Marisa 15: Separate Paths
by Prof. Voodoo
Summary: When Elio is called away on a secret mission the both members of the fratello get to work with different partners.


"Dr. Belisario, the hypnosis medication has been injected for 90 seconds."

"Good...is the camera ready?"

"Yes Doctor."

"Okay, we're ready to begin." The bald neurologist leaned forward in his seat and asked "What is your name?"

"Marisa; cybernetic test subject XB11-07A."

"Good Marisa...and what is your primary purpose?"

"To kick ass."

Belisario rolled his eyes and muttered "Mari, are you really asleep?"

"Well it's kinda hard to relax" complained the girl, pulling the monitoring visor up over her forehead. "Do I really have do this in my underwear?"

"Are you cold?" asked the doctor.

The girl squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. "No...just kinda...well...if I'd known I was gonna have to do this in just my underpants I wouldn't have worn the ones with _unicorns_ on them" she replied.

Belisario had to work hard to suppress a chuckle. "What kind of panties would you have chosen?" he inquired with a grin.

"Doctor..." the cyborg deadpanned, "...there is absolutely no good answer to that question." At that the entire staff let a collective laugh slip out.

Doctor Belisario explained "I'm sorry, we have to monitor your skin temperature throughout the interview. I promise this video won't wind up on the internet."

"You're video-taping this?" Marisa shrieked.

"Marinanna, push ten more cc's of the medication please" the doctor instructed, "Marisa, stay calm now."

Marisa leaned forward nervously. "This won't make it impossible for me to dive, will it?"

"Don't worry Mari, this isn't the conditioning drug cocktail," Marianna assured her, "it's just a sedative and a medicine that will put you into a hypnotic state for your interview. It'll be completely out of your system before you wake up."

The girl seemed suspicious, but she trusted the SWA doctors enough to sit back and try to relax. "Okay...as long as..." he voice trailed off as the second dose of the drug took hold.

**_The Interview_**

Doctor Belisario reached out to lower the monitoring visor back into place. "Alright, take two. Who are you?"

"I am Marisa; cybernetic test subject XB11-07A."

"...and what is your primary purpose?"

"To advance prosthetic & cybernetic research and to obey the orders of my handler Elio Alboreto & the Social Welfare Agency."

"Why does she have an -A suffix on the end of her processor code?" whispered the technician operation the camera (he used an external microphone, so there was no danger of talking over the recording). "None of the other girls have that."

Marianna explained; "The first diving cyborg, _Marina_, was -07. When she died due to an unexpected conditioning reaction most of her cybernetic parts were recycled into Marisa, including the central interface processor. Because Marisa is the 2nd cyborg to use that processor she got an _A _tagged onto its serial number."

The doctor ignored their whispering and continued his interview; "Very good, identity confirmed. Let's move on to the first question...what does your handler represent for you?"

"I owe my handler everything. Everything I know he has taught me...everything I own he has given me...all my power is because of him."

"How do you use that power?" the doctor continued.

"It is my duty to protect my handler..." she paused there, and after a few seconds continued "...but he is very capable of protecting himself. I use my power at the discretion of the Social Welfare Agency to eliminate threats to the State."

Satisfied with her answer Belisaro continued; "Next I want you to relax and slip into a state near sleep...I want you to tell me about your dreams."

The young cyborg exhaled, long & slowly, and after a few seconds her body began to twitch. "Subject entering REM sleep state" reported Marianna. Marisa's body began to shiver, provoking alarm amongst the technicians, but Belisario remained calm. "Her skin temperature just jumped 3 degrees" Marianna informed him.

"Marisa...tell me where you are...describe what you see."

"It's cold, and it's wet" the girl told him, stress and discomfort evident in her voice, "I'm alone and it's dark. I'm hungry, I can't stand up, I'm too weak." Her voice grew more agitated and tears appeared on her freckled cheeks, "Doctor, I don't want to be here anymore!"

Belisario spoke in calm, measured tones. "It's alright, follow the sound of my voice...I'm lifting you up, away from there...what do you see?"

"I'm floating now. There are balls of light, they seem warm...they seem like they can keep me safe..." All of a sudden Marisa thrashed in her seat, recoiling from some pain the adults around her could not see. "I can't get close to them! When I try they scream and push me away..._it hurts_!"

"Her electrocardiogram shows increased activity, Doctor" warned Marianna, "pulse is 155bpm. Brain activity in her pain centers is going crazy. If she gets any worse I'm pulling the plug!"

Belisario kept his cool; "Keep following my voice Marisa, I'm taking you away from them" the neurologist assured her, "they can't reach you anymore."

Watching her instrument panel Marianna gave a relieved sigh. "Pulse dropping...you've got her Doc."

"Now look around you Marisa...what do you see now?" Asked Belisario.

She was silent for a moment, but finally replied "Now there's fire above me, but there's blue light above that...like the sky at dusk...and...there's someone up there, standing on the edge like I'm in a well. He's dark, just a shadow really. He's scary, but I know he can make me safe. He's waiting for me if I can pass through the fire..._but I can't reach him yet_."

* * *

Doctor Fernando Bianchi hit the stop button on the DVD player. "Thought you might be interested in that Mr. Alboreto. We rarely show these interviews to the handlers but Marisa's dream seemed significant enough."

Alboreto ran his hand through his beard and muttered "The fire is obviously a memory of the one she nearly died in, but who do you think the shadow man is? Some father-figure from her past as Gwendolyn Doyle that we don't know about?"

"Elio, how can you not see the obvious?" muttered the psychiatrist, "The _shadow man_ is you. According to everything we've read Gwendolyn led a horrible life of starvation, neglect and abuse at the hands of every adult who _should _have kept her safe, capped off by being burnt nearly to death in an orphanage fire. You are the one who she's trying to reach by passing through the fire."

"So you're saying there's bleed-over in her memories?" mused Alboreto, "Images from her current life are slipping into dreams of her former."

Bianchi leaned back in his chair and replied "That part is perfectly normal. Henrietta still has her gun when she dreams of her old house...Allison has dreams of seeing & racing her former self...Jean is in the hospital room when Rico dreams of being paralyzed...Petra watches herself dance in her dreams...Kara's nightmares involve losing Michele in the Madrid train bombing. REM sleep is where all these images get mixed up in the cyborg's sub-conscious."

"So if you're not concerned about that what's the problem?" asked Elio.

"I never said there was one!" Bianchi laughed, flicking the nose of the bobble-head dog on his desk. He sensed that the old spy had entered his office expecting an argument and had not yet dropped his guard even now. "Alboreto, I thought you'd be _pleased_ to see this. Marisa's faith in you has transcended her conscious mind into her sub-conscious."

The old spy finally nodded and sighed "That's good to hear. I appreciate you showing me that."

"In my professional opinion Marisa surprisingly well-adjusted considering her problematic conditioning circumstances" explained Bianchi. "It's true that she displays a certain..._creativity _with regards to her mischief-making, but honestly I wish I saw that quality in some of the other girl's more frequently."

"Spoken like a man who doesn't have to deal with the aftermath" Alboreto chuckled.

With a nod the psychiatrist conceded; "Yes, true enough I suppose."

Elio stood up and extended his hand. "Thank you for showing me this, Doctor. I wish I had more time to talk but I'm afraid Giuseppe Croce is out on assignment so I've got his Geography class to teach."

Fernando Bianchi stood & shook the hand offered. "Better them than me," he joked, "I always hated Geography...good thing I became a doctor instead of a navigator."

As soon as Alboreto had departed Bianchi sat back down and pressed the play button on his DVD player and watched as Marisa's interview continued.

**_Secret Mission_**

The weekly face-to-face status meeting with Minister of Defense Petris had become routine to Pieri Lorenzo. In earlier times he & Section One Chief Draghi had come together and shared time with the Minister but without exception these meetings had resulted in a fight, so now the two Special Operations Chief's each got their own, non-consecutive hour. For the Minister it was an investment of an extra hour which resulted in greater harmony for her entire week.

"Utilization rates are maximum for this period" explained Lorenzo, "but in fairness that's because of the backlog of cases we dealt with following the cease-fire, and the 3 mass multi-fratello operations we had going on." He shuffled thorough his papers, knowing his allotted hour was drawing to a close. "That said our down-time & damage rates are well above average for the period. Mission Readiness Percentage should be 85% for next week."

Monica answered "Thank you Chief Lorenzo...I still see 4 cyborgs with mission disqualifying injuries this week, I do hope the girls are alright." Internally she recognized the cyborgs as the tools they were, but her politician's instinct impelled her to inquire about the welfare of her soldiers first.

"Well, Melanie was hit in the shoulder and required transportation back to headquarters, but she returned to duty the next day. Marisa took a few head impacts but all that was required was a re-calibration of her balance interfaces. Rachel had a foot blown off and Henrietta ripped off a few fingers in a zip-line, but both cyborgs were repaired in the field. Taking the doctors along on multi-fratello operations proved to be a wise choice."

"An expensive one as well, Chief Lorenzo" Petris replied. "Before our next meeting I'd like you to do the cost-benefit analysis on faster transport back to Rome."

"Are you suggesting we look at more modern helicopters, Madame Minister?" asked Lorenzo hopefully. The four AB212's that Sections One & Two shared were noisy, uncomfortable and well past their prime.

"Look into everything" she replied. "Christ, get V-22's from the Americans if you must...our cyborgs can certainly endure a crash or two. I simply want you to explore everything we can do to make this budget sale-able to the committee."

Lorenzo squirmed in his seat nervously. "Madame Minister, I'm sure you understand..."

Monica took her glasses off and slumped back in her seat informally. "Chief Lorenzo, let me be frank...cybernetic limbs and high-tech skin grafts I can defend in front of the committee...it's your _operational_ budget that I take the most flak over. Please, Lorenzo, I _need_ to see some trigger discipline from these girls. If you need an example..." she shuffled through her papers, trying to give the illusion that she had not prepared this argument in advance, "a few years ago Triela, the _shining star_ of your section, shot a witness, Signor Baldo Giacomotti. As a prisoner of the state his medical treatment cost us over €78,000. Is it at all possible that Mr. Hillshire could have taken this witness in without putting a bullet into his lung?"

Lorenzo inhaled sharply. He remembered the incident only because Victor Hillshire had despondently admitted almost hitting Triela across the face after she'd mouthed off to him, and asked to be re-assigned as a consequence. At the time Lorenzo had told the handler to get a grip on himself, and give his cyborg a smack whenever he felt it necessary, but now that he wished he could give both Hillshire and _The Princess_ a punch in the mouth for placing him in this awkward position before the Minister. The Petris cut him off before he could formulate his defense; "Chief Lorenzo, you're a man of action, that's why I chose you for this position, but you're also a man that can handle responsibility. I trust you to do what you can."

Pieri Lorenzo breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you Minister, I will give the matter my undivided attention."

"I hope not" replied Petris, "I sincerely hope that the greater part of your attention, as well as that of your entire section is focused on the mission." She leaned forward and pressed a button cleverly hidden in the woodwork of the oak table where their coffee cups sat. "We're no longer being recorded, Chief Lorenzo." She took some time refilling her cup, and offered the same to the Section Two Chief, who declined. "I'll need one of your handlers for a personal mission." Her tone of voice and general body language were a great deal less formal now.

"I'm sure we can accommodate" replied Lorenzo, "Danilo Sandrelli & his Ilaria are our alert fratello at the moment and they'll..."

"I'll be using Signor Alboreto" interrupted Minister Petris.

Lorenzo was surprised; it was not like the Minister to countermand his decisions. "Of course Madame. May I inquire as to the nature of this _personal mission_?"

"Afraid not," she replied, "I'll be personally seeing to an urgent matter of national security and I need a bodyguard."

"Well...Alboreto's cyborg Marisa is an awkward choice for a mission like that. An 11 year old bodyguard could potentially draw attention. Perhaps one of the older girls would be better suited to..."

Petris waved off his suggestion. "I'm not taking the cyborg, Chief Lorenzo, just the handler."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I just need Elio Alboreto" the Minister told him, "I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

Perplexed, Lorenzo leaned forward and said "Alboreto can certainly handle any task you require him to accomplish, but may I ask...why him specifically?"

With a shrug of her shoulders Petris answered "Previous experience...I know what the man can do. Granted, that was a long time ago, and he's a good deal older, but we all are aren't we?"

"Madame Minister, I'm not sure I understand completely" replied the Chief. "You've worked with Signor Alboreto before? I was unaware of that."

"Really?" she questioned, "You two live together...are you honestly saying he's never mentioned anything? I'd always assumed you two old spies gossiped like a couple of cyborgs at a sleepover party once the whisky started flowing."

"No Ma'am, he hasn't mentioned ever working with you."

Monica's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well I'm sorry, I thought you knew. After all I signed off without complaint on that exorbitant compensation package you offered him...would I have done that if I wasn't already familiar with the man's work? No, Pieri, you're not the only one who's had prior experience with _The Godfather_."

Lorenzo felt overwhelmed, and a little betrayed considering his old friend allowed him to be blindsided like this, but he asked "Umm...can I inquire exactly where & when you two worked together?"

Balancing her coffee cup on its saucer perfectly the Minister of Defense leaned back in her chair and gave a nostalgic smile. "It was the mid 1970's...the great age of super-villians, you remember those days I'm sure. I was working for SISDE and he was with the British Ministry of Intelligence. We met while trying to break into the same secret fortress on an obscure Greek island...some fool was building a weather control device, or maybe trying to melt all the world's gold with a space laser, I don't remember, there were so many of those idiots back then." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye that Lorenzo had not seen before.

"Elio & I decided to team up, but we were captured and had to escape from a tank of sharks before we could eliminate the target and blow up his hide-out. Together we escaped on the villain's yacht...where one more henchman was hiding as I recall...and after that we _took our time_ getting back to civilization." Her voice was laced with innuendo as she spoke the last few words.

For his part Pieri Lorenzo was at a loss for words. "Madame Minister...that last part, are you implying that you and Alboreto were..._intimate_?" He was actually beginning to feel dizzy.

"Well I didn't think I had to spell it out for you but, _yes_...several times each day" she chuckled. "It was a dreamlike 2 weeks. Sailing that yacht through the Greek isles by day, rowing the skiff ashore at night. Sun, wind, sea, endless wine...and might I add Elio had _quite_ the body back then as well, I always did enjoy younger men. Of course both of our governments were absolutely furious when we finally got back, but it didn't really matter; who could possibly resist _The Godfather_..."

"Oh God I need a drink" muttered Lorenzo. Still smiling, Monica got up and poured them each a tumbler of bourbon. "So...so...how long were you two involved?"

"It was just that mission" she sighed, "we both went our separate ways, and I met my husband Rinaldo soon after, but we tried to remain in touch." A hint of remorse entered her voice as she continued; "That was before MI-6 pushed him into a command role...before it twisted him into the monster he became...before the drug addiction. I tell you Pieri, it was sad to watch all that happen to him from afar."

"It was for me as well" Lorenzo replied with a nod before taking a long sip of his whiskey.

Petris finished her own drink in one gulp and shook off the strings of nostalgia. "Well, I promise I won't keep him long, and I'll try to return him in the same condition you loaned him to me."

**_A Fresh Pot of Coffee_**

After finishing up the Geography lesson Elio was left with little else to do for the day. He considered knocking off early, but he'd ridden to work with his house-mate Lorenzo and the Chief had taken the Maserati to his meeting with the Minister of Defense. Rather than wait in his own office Alboreto sauntered over to the mission planning room where a few more idle Section Two members awaited for the end of the business day. Alessandro Rissi, Michele Pagani, and Pagani's cyborg Kara greeted him with a fresh pot of coffee, from which Elio gladly accepted a cup.

"Michele, your girl here scored a hat-trick in Geography class today" Alboreto informed Pagani, "she was the only one who could name the capitols of all three Baltic Republics that got their independence when the Soviet Union fell apart."

"I can't even do that" muttered Alessandro, resolving to brush up on his Geography before Petra had the chance to embarrass him with a question he could not answer.

Pagani smiled and looked over at his charge, sitting on a table, swinging her legs casually. "My Kara has always been a diligent student, but it certainly costs me...those boots she's wearing entered her wardrobe as a direct consequence of a stellar grade on Hillshire's fluency certification exam in French."

"And the _shine_ on your boots is a direct result of the D I got on my last algebra exam" giggled Kara with a slight blush.

"True" Michele chuckled. "While I prefer that Kara makes good grades my leather products certainly benefit when she does not."

Elio took a swig of his coffee and mused "That's not a bad idea. Perhaps I need to find some ways to use my own little piece of _government property_ for personal gain."

Their conversation was interrupted by Jean Croce, who wandered in with a mission profile folder. "Elio...just the man I wanted to see. I have an overseas mission and it's you & Marisa at the top of the rotation. How does Miami, Florida sound to you this time of year?"

"A whole week in Florida just when the weather is miserable here in Italy," muttered Rissi, popping up from his chair to look at the folder that Jean proffered, "oh man, this is a total milk run too! Assassinate one Padania financier with no security detail...lucky old son-of-a-bitch!"

"You've got nothing to complain about Rissi" chided Michele, "you got that mission to protect the rock stars earlier this year...the one _all of us_ wanted. Besides, Elio & Mari might be able to go do some diving, I hear the Florida Keys are a mecca for that."

"True enough," sighed Alboreto, "but I'll have to pass this one off. I'm afraid I can't enter the United States."

Jean was taken aback, he thought the older man would be ecstatic about drawing this easy mission in such a desirable locale. "Why the hell can't you go to the damned US?"

With her index finger raised Kara piped up "Mr. Alboreto always says _the only worthwhile things to ever come out of the United States are duct tape, blues music & Chinese food." _

Shooting an oblique scowl at the cyborg Jean muttered "Don't give me that crap Alboreto, you've never turned a mission down...why this one?"

"I wasn't kidding Jean, I honestly am _not allowed_ to enter the United States" Elio explained. "Their CIA and National Security Agency know all my aliases, and they have my fingerprints on file. I wouldn't even get past the airport."

"Dare I ask why you are _persona non grata_ in the most powerful nation on the globe?" groaned Croce. The others were genuinely interested as well, hanging onto every word of the conversation, hoping for a new insight into the rumour filled past of _The Godfather_.

Elio leaned back in his chair and sighed. He explained; "I killed one of their FBI agents. We were both undercover on separate operations in New Orleans when we crossed paths. I knew she was an American agent and gave all the proper coded signals, but she still attacked me. I tried to give her every chance but eventually there were no options left & I killed her." He took another sip of his coffee and muttered "It turned into a huge mess...both of the operations were ruined. They flew me to CIA Headquarters in Langley Virginia for a 3 day long inquest, but eventually I was cleared of all responsibility. The Americans were still not fond of _yours truly_ though, and told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to set foot in the United States ever again or they'd _find_ a reason to arrest me. The Chief knows about all this, I'm surprised he didn't tell you."

Croce rolled his eyes, but accepted what Elio was telling him as the truth. "Fine, damn it...Pagani, you're next on the list. Is there some reason _you_ can't go on this mission?"

"No!" replied Michele, shocked at his good fortune, "Not at all!" He grabbed the folder before Jean could change his mind.

Kara stared at her handler with wide, excited eyes. "The US? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"The Pixar Studio?" asked Michele.

"Do they offer tours?"

"Even if they don't, I can certainly pull some strings and arrange it." He swung around in his chair and reached for a telephone. "I'll get the necessary flight clearances, Kara, you get with our usual car rental agency."

"Can we get a Cadillac CTS-V?" the girl asked hopefully.

"Get a Viper for Miami, get the Caddy for California."

Jean practically exploded; "Wait just a minute..._California_? That's on the wrong side of the continent!"

"It's no problem Jean, I have my own airplane, and I won't even expense the agency for fuel on that part of the trip."

Croce rummaged through a desk until he found a bottle of aspirin, swallowing two of them dry. "Three days off for every one day worked...I swear, you're even worse than my brother." Before Michele & Kara could rush out of the room to begin making their arrangements another visitor arrived, one nobody had expected.

Pieri Lorenzo stormed in with a haggard look on his face. It was so unlike the Section Two Chief to burst in like this that the others were frozen in their tracks, wondering what was wrong. They did not have long to wonder, as Lorenzo did not hesitate to say exactly what was on his mind; "Damn it Elio, why the _hell_ didn't you tell me about you and the Minister of Defense?"

"What is there to tell?" Alboreto asked calmly, but based on his old friend's mood he already had an idea.

"Only the fact that you two had a prior relationship before you joined the Social Welfare Agency!" He tossed down a stack of papers dramatically and snapped "This is they kind of thing I do not enjoy being blind-sided by in a meeting with my boss!"

With a shrug of his shoulders Elio replied "It was a very long time ago...I figured it didn't matter much anymore and the gossip might be damaging to the Minister if it got around."

Forgetting his travel plans for a moment Michele dared to ask "Just what kind of relationship are we talking about?" He was an old school chum of the Prime Minister himself, so the possibility that Elio might have known Monica Petris before the SWA did not seem all that that shocking.

"Oh let's just say it was an _intimate_ relationship and leave it at that out of respect for decorum" Lorenzo informed him, causing jaws to drop all around the room. Elio himself fought hard to but could not contain a sly smile.

The impact of the Chief's revelation was greatest on Sandro Rissi, who rose from his seat and crossed the room to face Alboreto. "Wait a minute...you managed to score with the Minister of Defense?" he exclaimed, "You are a god, man!" The younger man kowtowed before his esteemed colleague.

"Shut up Rissi" the Chief barked, sending the spy scurrying back to his seat.

"Obviously she wasn't the Minister back then...she was just an intel officer for SISDE" Elio explained.

"Whom you scored with..." Alessandro snuck in.

"Yes" the gray bearded handler confirmed, "we ended up having a lot of fun aboard that captured yacht, but it ended there and has no influence on our working relationship today." He turned to face his old friend Lorenzo and continued "I'm sorry I didn't fill you in on that, but given her position as our Director I didn't want a whole lot of loose talk getting around. The whole affair caused a lot of ruffled feathers between SISDE and the British Ministry of Intelligence back then."

Knowing there was nothing to be done about it Lorenzo finally gave up on his tirade and muttered "Well you two will have some time to catch up. She has specifically requested you for a personal mission...you'll meet with her in 2 days."

Alboreto nodded and sighed "Alright, I'd better start drilling Marisa on her protocol and behavior around VIP's." This was not one of Marisa's strong suits.

"No cyborgs" Pieri clarified, "that's straight from the Minister...she only needs you."

"Wonder what _that's_ all about" Sandro muttered, his voice full of sordid innuendo.

"Shut up Rissi" growled Jean & both older men in 3-way unison.

"What kind of a mission could she want you for that doesn't involve your cyborg?" mused Kara, who could not comprehend the thought of Michele ever going on an assignment without her.

Lorenzo cut her off right there; "I'll permit no speculation about that. The Minister would not even tell me where she was going or what she was doing. If it's above my security clearance it's certainly above yours. Not another word about it, that's an order."

"I'm going to have to tell Marisa..." replied Alboreto.

"That's fine" the Chief said, "since you don't know where you're going or what you'll be doing either I trust you won't give away any secrets. Keep quiet about Minister Petris though...I probably shouldn't have said anything about that so the information goes no further than this room, understood?"

"Understood Chief" replied Jean, speaking for Kara, Michele & Rissi.

As soon as Lorenzo & Elio left with Croce in tow Kara asked the question "Now...I understand we're not allowed to talk about Mr. Alboreto jetting off on a secret mission with the Minister, but what about those two sleeping together back in the old days? Can I tell the other girls about that?"

"My riding boots have been looking a bit scuffed lately..." answered her handler in a mildly ominous tone, and Kara had her answer.

**_Chili Sauce_**

Elio waited until the next morning to inform his cyborg that he would be going away for a while and just as he had expected Marisa did not take kindly to the idea of being left behind. "What if it's dangerous? I won't be there to protect you!" she protested loudly upon being told.

"Mari, I have done a great many dangerous things, most of them before you were even born. I assure you I can handle whatever is asked of me" he replied. Still, he felt obligated to spend the entire day at her side, at the outdoor range, at the shoot-house, at the obstacle course, and at lunch. Only during Dr. Bergonzi's biology class did Elio get a period of respite during which he could make his own preparations for the mission.

Once training & classes were done for the day Elio took his cyborg into Rome. Winter was coming and she was in desperate need of some heavier clothes, so he felt spending his last evening shopping with her would soften the blow of his impending mysterious departure. Marisa was not thrilled by clothes shopping the way many of her sister-cyborg's were, but she enjoyed spending time with her handler, and relished the attention he gave while she tried on outfits and modeled them for his approval. It was customary for her to refer to him as _Papa_ while in public, and while she knew it was not the complete truth it was one of her favorite parts of any outing...the chance to pretend for just a little while that she was his real daughter.

After they had visited a variety of department stores and filled what each deemed a sufficient number of shopping bags (that number being _far less_ than some of her sisters were capable of filling at a single store) the two retired for dinner to a Thai restaurant that Jean highly recommended.

In a dark, quiet booth specifically requested by Elio so they could talk candidly without risk of being overheard the old spy chuckled at the sight of his cyborg trying to master a plate of noodles using chopsticks. "You can use a fork," he finally laughed, "there will be no honour lost." Elio for his part used the bamboo utensils expertly.

"I can do this!" she growled with obsessive determination. At last she managed to bring a single bite to her lips, and grinned broadly at her success. She put the chopsticks down and endeavored to record the triumph in her _Lifetime things to do_ notebook before returning to the meal. Looking around at the choices on the table she spooned a bit of green sauce onto her plate and mixed it into her next bite.

"Mari be careful," warned her handler, "that's _very_ spicy." The cyborg took her bite, and instantly went wide-eyed with pain. Being possessed of hyper-senses the hot chili sauce burned her with an intensity that Alboreto could only imagine. Eyes watering, she banged her palm on the table, and reached for her water glass, which Elio pulled back before she could reach it. "That'll only make it worse, lass...take some plain rice instead."

At last she began to regain composure, and wheezed "Was that the hottest one?"

"No" admitted Alboreto, although he knew she would just continue to challenge herself, "it's this one right here." Marisa reached for a spoonful of the red chili sauce but her master stopped her. "I think that's enough for tonight my dear...must save some experiences for later, aye?" She feigned mild indignation at his protectiveness, but inwardly Mari was relieved to be absolved of her self imposed responsibility to try anything & everything life had to offer...even if it burned a hole in the roof of her mouth.

Eager to steer his cyborg from her self destructive experimentation with hot sauces Elio changed topics by saying "You know, while I'm gone you'll need a temporary handler to oversee your training and keep an eye on things...do you have anyone in mind?"

Marisa's eyes grew wide with frantic fear and she implored him "Not Major Mancini, _please_! He'll have me waking up at 5am and running laps all day and he already has it in for me since I..."

"Alright, alright, not Avise" Elio chuckled, "But who _would_ you like to work with? Michele Pagani is going to be away on a mission to Miami I'm afraid." Michele was a popular choice amongst cyborgs faced with an absent handler, as they could count on being treated to at least one high-end shopping trip & a thrilling ride in one of his supercars while under his charge. Alessandro Rissi rated near the top of the older girls' list's because he used his charm (& government ID) to get them into nightclubs they would otherwise be too young to enter. Rating near the bottom of the list were both Croce brothers...Jean for obvious reasons, Giuseppe not for any fault of his own but because of the ferocious jealousy that could be expected from his Henrietta. Elio himself was regarded as something of a strict ogre by many of the girls, and consequently was far from their first choice when offered the chance to pick a temporary handler.

"Actually" Marisa answered after mulling over her available options "do you think I could work with Mr. Hillshire & Triela?"

Elio was taken aback...he had not expected that choice from his cyborg. "I suppose I could ask Victor. Why him specifically?"

"Well, Triela is the best cyborg in the whole Agency, right?" she offered.

"Triela is certainly senior, but all cyborg's bring their own particular talents & strengths to the team, including yourself" Elio replied politically, but a cock of her head and a frustrated glance told him she was not in the mood for platitudes. "Alright...yes, Triela is the top cyborg" he admitted.

Mari explained "Well, if I'm gonna get better maybe I need to work with the best...see how she and Mr. Hillshire train."

"I have to admit I'm impressed" Alboreto praised, "you know you're not taking on an easy challenge. Vic Hillshire sets high standards for his girl and he'll expect you to meet them too. Is there any particular reason for your new surge of initiative?"

The red-head laid down her chopsticks and squirmed uncomfortably. "To be honest," she confessed "I've been thinking a lot about that kid I fought in Palermo, aboard the yacht. He almost beat me, Elio...me, a _cyborg_. As it was he damaged me bad enough that I had to sit out the rest of the Op. I thought I was really tough but he gave me one heck of a wake-up call."

"Don't forget that you won that fight" Elio admonished. "Obsession can be just as dangerous to you cyborgs as lack of focus. Keep things in balance, Mari...don't let a dead boy get into your head and mess things up."

"I know" replied Marisa, "but it can't hurt to get better, right? Besides, Triela's been through this...back when she fought Pinocchio...so maybe I could talk to her about how it feels."

Satisfied and even pleased with his trainee's answer Alboreto nodded. "I'll speak with Victor in the morning before I leave...I'm sure he won't have any objection."

"Great!" the girl exclaimed with a big grin, "Now do you think they have Thai gelato at this place? My tongue is still _burning_ from that chili sauce."

* * *

For Marisa, asking for Mr. Hillshire as her temporary handler was an easy task, but the matter had Elio up working late into the night. Knowing how problematic his cyborg could be he assembled a quick-reference guide...something resembling owner's manual for Marisa, and presented it to Victor Hillshire in the morning over breakfast in the staff canteen.

"Watch her around the caffeine & sugar" warned Elio, as the German flipped through his guide, "and don't let her try to tell you she doesn't have any homework. She's under orders to put in at least one session per week with the sniper rifle even though she's terrible at it. Make sure she flosses, I don't care if her teeth are artificial. No explosives in the dorm, and don't be shy about giving her a smack if she throws you any back-chat."

"I promise, I'll beat her like she's my own" Hillshire joked. "Elio relax, I'm sure she'll be just fine."

"It's not _her_ I'm worried about" groaned the older man. "This will be the first time I've been away from her for more than a weekend...and I don't even have a clue how long I'll be away. What I'm really concerned about is an anxiety attack. Lately they've become few & far between, but if she _does_ lose control don't try any heroics to calm her down, she's prone to strike out and could really injure you...she's cracked a few of my ribs before. Doc Bianchi knows I'll be gone, call on him for help if you need to."

While Alboreto poured over the details Hillshire kept a calm, casual demeanor. "Elio, old fellow, don't worry about it. I _have_ dealt with a cyborg anxiety attack before."

"You have?" asked a surprised Elio, "Was it one of Mari's?"

"No" answered the German, leaning across the table as if telling a secret "it was Triela."

The older man was visibly surprised, a fact that amused Hillshire. He explained; "It was years ago, when Claes lost her handler. You know us handlers are the center of the universe for these girls, and losing one is absolutely crushing. So it was with Claes, she went into total catatonia and wasn't responsive until she'd had a nearly complete recondition. Well, Triela was with her when she got the news...it must have been like watching her best friend get struck by lightning right next to her, I can't even imagine what was going through her head but she held it together for Claes' sake and even helped the doctors evacuate her to the hospital.

"Afterward I took Triela to a quiet place for dinner and so we could talk about it. Everything she was bottling up inside came rushing out and she had a very bad break-down. I was able to convince the waiter she was having an epileptic fit, but it was absolutely terrifying. I must have broken every speed limit rushing her back to the hospital on compound, and nearly ran the front gate to boot.

"Thankfully Triela doesn't remember a thing. Jean Croce recommended a memory wipe of everything related to the incident and for once I agreed with him. None of the girls who were around back then even remember Captain Raballo...in fact I shouldn't even be speaking his name."

Elio nodded and assured Victor "You aren't giving away any secrets. If Lorenzo didn't want me to know these things he'd have a better password on his home computer. Either way I'm glad to hear that you know what to expect."

"Don't worry Alboreto," Hillshire assured him "I'll take good care of your cyborg, and she may even learn a thing or two from Triela & I."

"That's what I hope" replied Elio, shaking Hillshire's hand, "Thanks a lot Victor, and good luck with her."

**_Security Detail_ **

After leaving the SWA compound in a nondescript government Fiat, Elio traveled to Quirinal Hill and the _Palazzo Baracchini_. He left the car to be picked up later (Allison & Olga would be charged with the mundane task) and proceeded inside. He was immediately stopped at the first security checkpoint. "Social Welfare Agency, eh? You're the ones who work with cripples, right?" muttered a low level uniformed security guard, "You've got the right clearance, but I don't see what business _you_ have at the Ministry of Defense."

"I'm just here to see an old friend" Alboreto told him, not entirely lying.

"Well you just wait here while I check this out" the guard warned, and picked up his telephone to call Elio's credentials in. Rather than being aggravated by the delay Elio found himself amused by the man's self-important posturing, and occupied him time by enjoying the paintings in the lobby while he waited. Out of the corner of his eye the old spy watched all the color rush out of the guard's face and he knew he did not have much longer to wait.

"Signor, I apologize!" the guard exclaimed, knocking over his coffee in a frantic attempt to show deference to a guest who's importance he had drastically underestimated. "Please come right this way!"

"Would you like to check my valise?" Alboreto offered, holding the bag out for inspection. His 9mm Beretta sat inside, along with 4 loaded magazines.

The sweating man waved off the suggestion; "Oh, no sir...that won't be necessary at all." He ushered the visitor through his security gate, practically bowing as he passed.

"Thank you" replied Alboreto with nod, amusing himself by treating the man with far more more courtesy than he had been received with, and thinking himself rather droll for doing so.

A uniformed Carabinieri Lieutenant came down the stairs to meet Elio and take him off the hands of the nervous security guard. "Come right this way Signor Alboreto, you're right on time, but the Minister is running a bit late." He was led into an opulent sitting room, better appointed than even the VIP suite at SWA Headquarters. There Elio was left alone for a few minutes. He did not take a seat, but laid his valise down and looked at some more art.

In minutes the double doors opened admitting Monica Petris and her entourage of deputies & assistants. "Ah, Mr. Alboreto, how good of you to come" she greeted in her politician's voice. "Mr. Alboreto is from the Social Welfare Agency, we'll just need a few minutes alone and we can get right back to business." As her hanger's-on gave them a bit of space Monica pulled Elio aside and whispered "Thank you for coming Alboreto, we don't have much time for discussion so I'll be brief. There is a new valise in the armoire to your left, identical to the one you are carrying. Swap them and take along anything personal you'll need. I'm afraid you won't be able to bring a firearm along because we'll be flying commercial but I guarantee anything you leave will be returned safely and left with Lorenzo at your Headquarters."

"Flying, Minister?" he questioned.

She answered curtly "As I said; no time to explain. Once you've switched bags slip in with my entourage. I'll be changing security details multiple times today, but you stay by my side the whole time. Soon it will be just the two of us and I can fill you in on more of the plan, but not everything."

She hadn't explained much, but Elio nodded and hung back from the group as they ushered the Minister of Defense along to her next meeting. He inspected the contents of the provided valise, a new passport, various hair dyes, and curiously a set of airline tickets from Frankfurt to Atlanta. Other than that the bag was empty; it would have been far easier to transfer these few items into his own valise, but the Minister had been clear in her instructions so he followed them to the letter, moving all of his clothes and his shaving kit, leaving behind his Beretta in his own bag.

Once he was finished the Carabinieri Lieutenant showed him back to the group where Alboreto blended in and passed the remainder of the day standing in the background at meetings, photo sessions and a press conference.

**_Gunslingers_**

"Ready to go?" asked Triela, popping her head into Marisa & Amelia's room.

"Marisa has already departed for the indoor firing range" answered Amelia, the seemingly emotionless bomb squad cyborg preparing her own gear for a day of training.

"Oh" the blonde cyborg muttered, disappointment evident in her voice, "at breakfast we said we'd walk over there together." Amelia just stared at her, but since she had not been asked a question she gave no answer. Feeling a little creeped out by the highly conditioned girl Triela backed out of the doorway and told her "Have a good day, Amelia" before turning to walk down the hall alone. Just as she pivoted on her heel Triela jumped back, startled to find Marisa standing right behind her.

"Gotcha," the younger girl greeted with a self satisfied grin, "boy you Generation One girls don't know a thing about stealth do you? It's just bash, crush, smash with you."

Triela was about to give her retort when she something brushed up against her from behind. This time she gave a yelp of surprise when she noticed Amelia had snuck up on her as well. "You were correct Marisa" she said in her flat monotone, "that was amusing."

"Arrghh! I'm afflicted by a _plague_ of little sisters!" groaned the Senior Cyborg, accepting their pranks with good humor but resolving to pay them back in good time. "Let's get going...if we're late we won't get two adjacent lanes" she said. "See you later Amelia...watch your back!"

Walking side by side with the famous golden girl of the Agency and knowing they would be partners for the next few days at least made Marisa feel a whole meter taller than her 142 centimeter stature. Just considering that she would be training with the best there was filled Mari with a hopeful thrill & seemed to impart her with new credibility. Like grim gunfighters from the Sergio Leone films Major Mancini liked, she & Triela walked the path confident that no _hombres _with sinister intentions would dare stand against a pair as formidable as they.

The fantasy was diluted a bit by Triela herself, who seemed more in the mood to talk about teddy bears than gunfights on dusty western American streets, specifically the best places for acquiring ribbon to decorate said teddy bears. Still, as long as no one could overhear their conversation Marisa felt the illusion was unblemished, that of two formidable warriors, unchallenged in the morning sun.

Hillshire had not yet shown up by the time they arrived at the indoor shooting range, and knowing that cyborgs were not allowed to use the range without a supervisor Marisa expected to wait. "Morning Triela" greeted the range officer behind the glass partition.

"Good morning Claudio, Mr. Hillshire will be along shortly" she replied cheerfully, "we'll be doing some rifle practice today."

To Marisa's surprise he slid Triela a set of keys and wished her "Happy hunting" but as the older girl passed the man called out to Marisa "Miss...you'll need to be with your handler to enter the range...you know that."

"Oh Mari's with me today" clarified the older girl, and that seemed to satisfy the man, who waved them both through.

"What was that all about?" Marisa asked as the two walked down the stairs.

Triela maintained her causal air but could not hide a little bit of smug satisfaction at having impressed her younger counterpart. "Oh Hillshire is sometimes a little late so Claudio lets me get set up on my own. We still have to wait for Victor before we can start shooting though." They reached the bottom of the stairs where Triela turned the corner and unlocked the ammunition room. "Whatcha shooting?" she asked.

"7.62x51" replied Marisa, impressed with the perks that came with being Senior Cyborg. The red-head already had her Kel-Tec rifle with her, but Triela had not yet decided what she was going to practice with, so she resolved to pick something that used the same ammunition.

"Here we are" Triela said "7.62 NATO."

"Actually," corrected Marisa, "the NATO round is a full metal jacket battlefield load, which we _don't_ use for our work. These are fragmentation rounds with an exposed lead tip; cuts down on penetration and collateral damage."

"I'm impressed" the older cyborg admitted. Handing Mari a full case of 7.62 rounds Triela next unlocked the weapons room and drew for herself a Heckler & Koch G3A3. Locking up both doors the blonde girl had a careful look around (they were still alone) before whispering "Hey, Mari, check it out..." She selected another key from the ring Claudio had given her and unlocked the coin operated soft-drink machine. "...what do you want?" she giggled, amused at getting into a little mischief.

Recalling Elio's admonishments concerning excessive caffeine Marisa asked for a ginger ale, but Triela snorted "Live a little" and tossed her a can of Red Bull. "This damn machine has eaten up so many of my coins I don't feel one bit guilty...but it would still be better to finish that up before Hillshire arrives. I don't feel like getting chewed out for the grievous crime of _grand theft soft drink_ by my ex-cop handler." With a laugh Marisa complied, and after returning the keys to Claudio the two sat down on a heavy steel bench (securely bolted to the floor for some unknown reason) to finish their drinks as Section One members and other fratelli began to show up.

At last Victor Hillshire made his appearance, apologetic for being late. Eager to make up for his tardiness the German suggested something fun to start the session. "Why don't you each try firing something you haven't tried before?"

"Sounds good" Triela replied, and Mari agreed with a nod. For the younger cyborg the task was easier; there was a lot to chose from. She selected a Belgian Fabrique Nationale P90 such as Henrietta was fond of. Triela found the task more difficult, as she had experience with nearly every firearm in the SWA inventory, but she eventually settled on an H&K XM8 like Kara and her handler used.

Lining up in positions 9 & 10 Marisa and Triela set up their respective targets and sent them zipping towards the end of the lane. Leaning in Hillshire whispered in his cyborg's ear "How's she doing?"

Looking back at him with surprise Triela replied "Who, Mari? Just fine. She's not a raw rookie or something...she's been on a lot of missions and scored some pretty big victories. Take it easy...she's fine."

Just as Triela finished that sentence there came a wild burst of full automatic fire from the lane beside them. Assuming a weapons malfunction both of them dropped to the floor, as did the other fratelli present and all the Section One members. The fire stopped for an instant when Marisa's magazine was expended, but with lightning quickness she ejected the empty and slammed a new one into the P90's unique top mounted receiver. Without a wasted second she chambered a first round & let loose again, blasting the paper target to shreds with a hail of 5.7mm rounds.

"Mari, stop!" yelled Triela, reaching up and placing a restraining hand on the top of the weapon. Instantly Marisa halted her fire and looked at her fellow cyborg with perfect innocent calm. "Everything's okay!" announced the blonde girl and gradually all those around them began to get up off the floor.

"Marisa what the hell was that all about?" barked Hillshire.

The red-head shrugged her shoulders and replied honestly "Well my Kel-Tec only has a 20 round box magazine, so I was kinda curious to see what it felt like to hold the trigger down for a whole 50 rounds. This thing is pretty sweet...not as much recoil as I expected."

Victor asked her "Does Elio ever let you fire on full automatic _indoors_?"

"No way!" she laughed.

"Then why...pray tell...did you do it this time?"

"You didn't say I couldn't" replied Marisa.

Hillshire groaned. Barely an hour into his tenure as her stand-in handler he was falling victim to _Marisa Logic_ such as Elio's handbook had warned him about. "I'll bet you don't even know how many rounds you have left in the magazine..._without_ looking!"

Caught by the truth of Hillshire's statement Marisa froze for an instant, considered her options, and decided how to respond. She pointed the weapon down range and released a final burst of 7 rounds before the weapon clicked empty again. "Zero Sir!" she answered. Feeling a headache coming on Hillshire could only rub his temples in frustration.

After about a half hour of warm up passed without any other incidents Victor drew two blank score cards from the stack and got down to business. The P90 and XM8 were set aside so that both girls could concentrate on their chosen weapons, the G3 for Triela, Mari with her Kel-Tec RFB. "So what do we want to set for a goal?" Hillshire asked both of them, "say, 3%?"

"I don't understand" said Marisa.

Triela explained "Every time I practice I need to set a goal for improvement...a percentage over the score I got last time. Couldn't we just do 1% today? I did really good last time, it's gonna be hard to beat."

Over the years of their partnership Victor Hillshire had not build up an immunity to a wide-eyed pleading look from his cyborg, her _puppy-dog eyes_ so to speak, but he was still bound by his stern German pride, so he compromised. "2%...how's that?"

"Okay" agreed Triela, knowing she wouldn't do any better by arguing.

"How about you Marisa?" Victor asked "Think you can beat your last score card by two percent or better?"

"It's worth a try" the younger cyborg said with enthusiasm, and the two girls set about puncturing a series of targets over the next few hours. Both did well; Triela provided Mari with a few tips during their breaks that helped her consistency and accuracy. For her part Marisa was able to advise her older sister on a few breathing exercises Elio had taught her and Triela found that these helpful when aching muscles & the acerbic burn of powder in her eyes began to frustrate her.

At the end of the 2 hour session Hillshire tabulated both scores and compared them to their previous session. While both girls had improved on their last scores neither achieved the 2% goal. "Not bad at all" the handler said, "but you know what this means."

Triela tried the puppy-dog eyes on him again, replying "I know...but Marisa shouldn't have to do it, she's just with us until Elio comes back. It really shouldn't apply to her."

Giving his younger, temporary charge a grave look Victor asked "What say you Mari? Do you want the full Triela-Hillshire training experience?"

"Well sure, sir" she answered, "that's what I signed up for."

"Alright then," said Hillshire with a nod, "go ahead and explain to her what's expected Triela. You two better get your weapons cleaned up and wash up yourselves...I'll check in on you after class this afternoon." With that he left the girls to go about cleaning up their stalls & firearms.

As soon as her handler had left Triela turned to Mari and groaned "Arrghh, why didn't you just go along with it and agree with me?"

"Along with what? Agree with what?"

Triela explained; "Whenever I fall short of the goal Hillshire & I set for the day I owe him an essay on why it happened and what I plan to do in order to improve next time. I was _trying_ to get you out of it!"

"Oh...sorry" Marisa muttered, "it's no big deal I guess. It's not as if Elio's never made me write a punishment essay before."

"Hillshire says not to think of it as a punishment" clarified the blonde cyborg, "rather, _self improvement_." She shrugged her shoulders and added "It's really not that big a deal...he only wants one page. I'll help you out with yours, by now I know exactly what he expects. We can worry about that tonight though...let's get all this cleaned up and get to lunch before all the best tables are taken."

* * *

By the end of the press conference Elio was absolutely confident that by avoiding politics he had made a correct decision in terms of his lifetime employment. He stood at the back of the room while Minister Petris gave her briefing and then answered ridiculous questions from journalists who had apparently not listened to a word she had just said. For the most part these journalists were partisan and it was not difficult to determine which direction they leaned. The left wing scribes asked questions that demanded idealism impossible outside the pages of fiction, the right wing pundits' questions reeked of reactionary cowardice. It was obvious that none of them were motivated by a deep conviction to report the news, only a desire to sell copy. Elio was not a man who lacked his own political opinions, but in this den of squawking imbeciles it felt impossible to be proud of either side.

His feet aching, Alboreto felt embarrassed to find himself shifting his weight from foot to foot, until he observed the rest of the Minister's entourage doing the same. Only Monica Petris herself stood firm; a characteristic not witnessed by the assembled audience as her feet were hidden by the speaker's podium. To be outdone by the only person in the room older than he...Elio did not know entirely how to feel about that.

At last, and somewhat without warning the press conference was over. Amidst a fusillade of camera flashes and a cacophony of journalists trying to shout out one last question Minister Petris was ushered off-stage by her security detail, closely followed by her entourage, of which Elio Alboreto was one. Retiring to another room he expected more of the same but here the advisers & staff found themselves dismissed, along with half the security force. The old spy began to piece things together...Monica Petris was surrounded by six guards at all times, three of whom swapped out every four hours. Four guards departed on this transition though, allowing Elio to slip into a spot previously occupied by one who still had 4 hours left on his rotation. Thus, he was not viewed with suspicion by the new watch coming on.

"We'll be flying to Milan, gentlemen, I have a last minute meeting with Senator Tafani" she informed the assembled men.

"Certainly Minister" replied the head of the detail. He still eyed Alboreto with a suspect eye, but said nothing.

The flight to Milan was made by government Dassault Falcon 900, and from his window Elio could see that they were flanked by two _Aeronautica Militare_ Typhoon fighter escorts. The flight took barely an hour, during which time the Minister worked silently, but as the aircraft began its approach into Milan-Malpensa airport she summoned Elio to sit next to her.

"We'll only be here an hour or so" she whispered, "but according to the official record this is where I will be staying. I'll leave the last of my security detail and we'll be taking a smaller utility aircraft to Frankfurt...you have the tickets for the next leg of our trip, correct?"

"Yes I do" Alboreto replied, but he did not mention Atlanta by name. He wondered if it was just another subterfuge or the Minister really did intend to go to Atlanta, in the United States, with him as her only escort. Surely Lorenzo had briefed her about his issues entering the US. Still, the old spy said nothing...now was not the time or place.

"Good" Petris said with a nod, "I'd like you to wait here and have a look over the aircraft. I'll return after my meeting with the Senator."

The Piaggio P.180 was obviously owned by the Italian government but carried no official markings to identify it as so. Michele Pagani owned an Avanti just like this one but his was outfitted in a far more sumptuous fashion; Elio had flown on it once during a quick mission to Malta. This particular example was a workhorse though, with utilitarian seats and barely any sound insulation. Elio gave it a quick look over; not knowing exactly what he was supposed to be looking for he ensured there were no explosive devices on board and checked the cargo hold for stowaways. The pilot (a man about his age) came out to see what he was doing but since both men were bound by secrecy they had little to talk about. When the Minister returned about an hour and a half later they were discussing the recently ended Formula One season.

Although she had left in a Rolls-Royce adorned with the blue and gold fender flag of the Minister of Defense & accompanied by a full security entourage Monica Petris returned in a nondescript Fiat Linea with only her driver. She got out of the front passenger seat carrying only a handbag, while the driver followed her with a small suitcase. "Gentlemen I apologize; I'm afraid my meeting went a bit long, we have only a few hours to catch a connecting flight in Frankfurt. Captain, I'll need you to put the whip to her a bit. Mr. Alboreto will you please get my bag?" The Minister of Defense walked directly up the aircraft's stairs, leaving all three men, the pilot, the driver and the gray bearded spy looking at each other with confused expressions on their faces.

"Well" the driver finally muttered, handing Elio the Minister's suitcase, "have a good flight."

**_Cyborg Cinema_**

There was never any shortage of Section Two staff members willing to teach the History class when Ferro was busy. Victor Hillshire (in his assigned role as Academic Supervisor) had to beg, bargain & cajole in order to find substitute teachers for Priscilla's Mathematics class, Giuseppe's Geography lessons, or the sciences which the doctors were supposed to cover, but when the opportunity opened up to teach a History class Hillshire became every handler's best friend.

Today it was Avise Mancini who had won the coveted prize (having promised Hillshire he would teach the next 3 Physics classes in exchange) so ignoring Ferro's carefully laid out lesson plan he delivered a speech about the 1943 defense of Sicily in his typical bombastic fashion. Already familiar with the disastrous campaign as a result of Ferro's lesson a month ago the cyborgs were well aware that Major Mancini was perhaps putting his own personal spin on the story but all knew by now that it was unwise to challenge the world view of Agapita's handler.

Next up was Jean Croce's art class. It was the Field Commander's predictable habit to lecture for a few minutes to set up the topic of the day, then put a movie in the DVD player and leave to do something else. To date Jean had not caught on that within sixty seconds of his departure the mind numbingly boring educational film was cast aside in favor of something the cyborgs had chosen themselves. Several times the girls had been caught in the act by other agency adults, but thus far all of them had turned a good humoured blind eye to the mischief, some even becoming complicit in order to get a subtle jab in at Jean Croce.

"We're clear!" called out Allison, who was the day's designated lookout.

Triela hopped up from her seat, giving Marisa's arm a tug as she passed. "Help me pick one out!" the Senior Cyborg said before scurrying up to the projection room to shut off _Viennese Oboe Craftsmen of the mid-19th Century_ before it put any of her sister-cyborgs to sleep. "What do you feel like watching?" she asked.

"How about this one?" suggested Marisa, pulling a DVD down, "It's got Roberto Benigni in it."

"_La vita è bella_?" said the older girl with a pessemistic frown, "I don't know...that's a Holocaust film and Henrietta doesn't like sad stories."

"Oh jeeze!" Marisa groaned, tossing her hands in the air "Henrietta thinks _Conan the Barbarian_ is a sad story!"

"It kinda is" mused Triela, "he _does_ lose everyone he ever loves...his tribe, his mother, his father, his girlfriend..."

"Okay, okay, fine...no sad stories," muttered the red-head, "how about a scary one? Here's something about a 30 ton spider attacking a Japan."

Again Triela shook her head in disapproval. "Are you _trying_ to send Kara into cardiac arrest?"

"Kara's not even here, she's in Miami on a mission!" Marisa retorted, "We're burning time...you pick something."

"Fine" Triela picked an older movie off the shelf.

"_Carosello Napoletano_?" asked Mari, surprised at her choice. "But I thought you hated musicals."

Triela shrugged her shoulders as she dropped the disc into the DVD player. "I do, but everyone seems to enjoy them."

"As long as '_everyone_' doesn't include yourself" commented the younger girl.

Chewing over this food for thought Triela was silent for a few moments, but replied "Sometimes you just have to take happiness from knowing you've made others happy." Finding her older sister's words profound Marisa nodded. Triela's silent sacrifice, for which she would earn no acclaim was nothing short of noble in her younger sister's eyes. Over the next hour and a half Marisa paid little attention to the movie, but sat in quiet admiration as she watched Triela cringe and roll her eyes at a film she knew the Senior Cyborg was not enjoying.

**_The Job at Hand_**

It was already dark over the alps, rain lashing the windows of the P.180 as it bounced in the turbulence on its way to Germany. Finally alone with Elio, Minister Petris sat down to explain all she could about the mysterious mission. "I apologize for all this secrecy but I know you understand the business we're in." She pulled a dossier from her carry-on bag and handed it to her bodyguard. "We're traveling across the Atlantic to meet with the owner of an American bio-technology firm. Justin Callais is his name, and he's in possession of some potentially compromising information."

"What sort of information?" asked Alboreto.

The Minister continued; "You remember that we received the new skin-graft nanotechnology in a trade with the Americans? Well, to put things bluntly there was a screw up; along with the 16 terabytes of data we did intend to give them we accidentally sent a 2 megabyte Power Point presentation that was intended strictly for our own Intelligence Commission. This slide-show could, unfortunately, blow the lid on our entire cyborg operation."

"If we gave that information to the American State Department" said Elio ventured "how did it wind up with a private bio-tech firm?"

Monica sighed and admitted "Our people screwed up when we let that presentation slip through...then the Americans screwed up by allowing a bank of computers at the Center for Disease Control to be hacked. They lost over 600 terabytes of information, including our Power Point file. Since both parties are at fault the Americans are being rather cooperative about fixing the damage. We're meeting with Mr. Callais to buy back our portion of the data, hopefully before he discovers what he's got."

Alboreto gave a low growl of dissatisfaction and muttered "Data is a tricky topic...how can you be confident that it hasn't been copied a hundred times already?"

"That's been covered;" answered Petris "the data volume contains over a billion examples of a virus script that reports back to our own information security agency in Rome any time it's copied. So far its only reported back once, and the CDC has agreed to destroy their copy of the file without opening it as a condition of securing our help. We can nip this thing in the bud if we act quickly."

Elio felt it was time to mention his inconvenient _issues_ with the United States government. "So that's why I'm carrying a pair of tickets for Atlanta? That's where the American CDC is located."

"No, Atlanta is just our connection" replied Monica, "the meeting will take place in Las Vegas."

"Minister," began Elio "I hate to bring this up at a time like this, but I might be a liability on this mission. I'm not exactly welcome in the United States."

"I'm aware of the incident in New Orleans...1991 I believe?" replied Petris "As part of the agreement with the Americans I've worked out a deal that allows you to pass through Customs & Immigration in Atlanta. This is strictly an under the table deal though...you'll still need to travel under an alias and avoid any contact with law enforcement."

"What about this Callais, the one who stole the data?" asked Alboreto "What do we intend to do about him?"

"He's the Americans' problem" replied Petris, "at least at this juncture."

"One last question;" Elio ventured "why you? We're taking an enormous security risk here, exposing you like this."

"The Prime Minister felt that way as well, but Justin Callais has a very lofty opinion of himself and has demanded a high level official, in person, for the negotiation. Initially he wanted the Prime Minister himself to show up...we managed to talk him down a bit."

"It smells like a trap" growled Alboreto, "we should have a bigger security force guarding you."

Monica shook her head dismissively "Elio if we show up with the entire Tuscania battalion it's going to raise alarms all over the intelligence world. The two of us need to handle this...and handle this in such a way that nobody knows it ever happened. There is a backup fratello in the United States already should something go wrong, but it would be best if we never have to call that contingency into action. The less people who know about this the better." She leaned across to him and added "Elio, I'm counting on you to be more than my bodyguard. I need you as a partner...the man I remember from 1977 who stole a jet-pack and escaped from an exploding mountain fortress with a very lucky Italian intelligence operative clinging to his waist."

Alboreto gave her a wan smile and replied "That was a long time ago, Minister."

"You used to call me Monica."

"There was a lot less riding on the things we did back then."

**_Mission Closet_**

"_...and so, after getting the platinum fork on the mountain of fire the Prince safely returned to the Kingdom with the Princess; and all the Kingdom rejoiced. The Prince was overjoyed, because now he had many friends with whom he ate pasta. The Prince was not lonely any longer. The End._" Marisa finished and closed the book, setting it down on Claes' & Triela's table with a puzzled look.

"So what do you think?" asked the blonde haired girl with wide eyes and wearing an expectant grin.

"It's okay I suppose," Mari answered, "but I don't see what the big deal about it is."

Claes picked the book up and replied curtly "It happens to be a very meaningful story to all of us First Generation's." Treating the first edition volume with reverence she carefully returned it to a place of honor on the bookshelf. Marisa was used to Claes' muted conceit, but this time she seemed a little offended. Although she did not make a great show of it either Triela was clearly disappointed by Marisa's lack of enthusiasm as well. Determining that she would not get an honest explanation from either of them the red head decided not to push the issue...she could always ask guileless Rico about the book's significance later on.

Fortunately for all the tension was broken by the arrival of Rico and her room-mate. Henrietta bounded in and announced enthusiastically "Look what I found in the mission closet! Isn't it cute?"

"You know you aren't supposed to be poking around in there" warned Claes with a smirk. Located on the first floor of the dormitory was a windowless storage room filled with an eclectic assemblage of outfits; each of which had been purchased for a specific mission and now sat on racks awaiting another usage. While this collection was officially deemed _off-limits_ to the cyborgs few of them could resist the temptation of a veritable costume department located right within the very building where they lived.

The younger girl held her own, placing her tiny hands upon her hips and offering a quick retort "Claes, don't pretend you never do it; that sweater you're wearing right now was filched from the mission closet!"

Mari turned in her chair to see what new outfit her sister-cyborg had found and instantly turned as pale as a sheet. 'Etta modeled for the others a familiar pinafore in blue & green plaid, one that made Marisa tremble slightly at the memory of nuns. Taking a quick sip from her teacup to quiet her stomach Mari commented "That's the uniform I wore during my mission to the Catholic school in Rufina."

"Oh I'm sorry," replied Henrietta with an embarrassed, apologetic look in her eye, "I didn't know it was yours...it was in the mission closet. I'll put it back if you..."

Quickly Marisa put up her hands in an effort to clear up the misunderstanding. "No, not at all...you're welcome to it! I only kept one of those _things_ because Elio insisted I might want a souvenir. Frankly I'd be happy if I never had to wear it again!"

"Good" Henrietta said with a broad grin, "I think Giuse will really like it."

As Triela poured each of the two new visitors a cup of tea she joked "Your wardrobe cabinet must be close to bursting already with all the clothes Mr. Giuseppe has bought you!"

"That's okay" chirped 'Etta's room-mate, "she can use some of the space in mine...I don't have many clothes that need to be hung up." Rico had come back from the mission closet with a white feather boa wrapped around her neck, causing all to wonder what kind of mission had required a 2 meter feather boa. _Probably something Monty & Jethro needed._

As Henrietta spooned sugar into her tea she countered "It's not like I still have every single gift Giuse has ever given me...lots of stuff has gotten ruined on missions. I'd like to keep it anyway, but Giuse says I can't hold onto every single little thing." The last observation was accompanied by a little pout. "You're lucky Triela...the gifts that Mr. Hillshire gives you stay safe back here at the dormitory."

"You could start your own collection any time" the older girl pointed out, reaching over to adjust a bow on Sneezy, "Giuseppe would buy them for you if you'd just ask."

Marisa rolled her eyes and grumbled "Oh that's all we need...both of you collecting those things. You're liable to start a competition for who can overflow their room the fastest."

"Hey, don't tease;" Triela laughed "you've got a stuffed shark after all."

The red-head gave a disdainful snort and replied "My handler _insisted_ that I own at least one stuffed animal...I only have it to keep him off my case." She lifted her teacup & saucer with a sophisticated air and took a quiet, polite sip.

"But Marisa," Rico piped up, "if it's not important to you then why did you give her a name?"

Mari coughed and nearly choked on her tea. Rico, the consummate sniper, had fired just one shot & blown a gaping hole straight through her facade of pretentious maturity. Wearing a wickedly self-satisfied grin Triela leaned over the table and asked "The shark has a _name_?"

"Eugenie" Rico answered cheerfully, "her name is Eugenie."

"That's a very nice name" Triela replied, "very original & unique." Despite her kind words it was obvious that the Senior Cyborg got a mischievous kick out of Mari's embarrassment.

The younger girl gave her an annoyed look and muttered "At least my shark would _eat_ all of your bears."

"What?" Triela continued to tease, "A shark is just a glorified fish, and bears eat fish all the time!"

Although it was all meant in good fun their game was interrupted by a sharp rebuke from Henrietta; "No fighting!" She put a few more spoonfuls of sugar into her tea and suggested "Let's read the _Pasta Prince_ book again...I love that story!"

**_Las Vegas_**

"My god, if the press back home could see you now" muttered Elio. Both he and Monica Petris had changed their respective appearances back in Frankfurt but this was the first time he had commented on her disguise. The Minister of Defense had given her hair a bluish-violet tint, and wore a purple sweatshirt emblazoned with the words _OVER SIXTY AND STILL SEXY_.

"What about you?" she chuckled, looking over her bodyguard, "You look like a bad Elvis impersonator." Elio had dyed his silvery hair black and trimmed his sideburns so that they stopped short of his beard, giving them the look of the "mutton chops" sported by Presley.

Joining in on his companion's jest Alboreto snatched a pair of huge gold-rimmed woman's sunglasses from her voluminous white faux-leather purse, slipping them on and doing the best impression of _The King _that an Italian raised in Liverpool could muster. "Thank you very _muuuuch_."

Petris could not contain her laughter. "Worst Elvis ever!"

"Well I'm sure you can find much better in this town if that's what you're after" Alboreto replied, replacing her sunglasses on the purse strap. "Once I get our luggage at the baggage claim we need to find the Enterprise desk...I arranged a rental car for us during our layover in Atlanta."

"Go ahead & get the bags" instructed Monica, "I'll go get the keys to the rental."

Elio spoke in a low growl "Minister, please don't make this difficult. You need to stay within 3 meters of me at all times if I'm to be your shield."

Monica fixed him with a displeased glare. "Mr. Alboreto" she muttered "the Enterprise desk is only 20 meters away. I am perfectly capable of signing an automobile rental contract without being kidnapped or murdered. Need I remind you that I was right by your side on that Greek island 30 years ago?"

"Need I remind you that you are now the _Minister of Defense_ for a G-8 level nation?" Elio hissed, "The level of exposure we're already risking is insanely reckless."

"Be serious Elio; this is the United States...how many Americans would even recognize their _own_ Minister of Defense if they saw him in an airport?" chided the woman.

Stalling for time Elio replied "They call it the _Secretary_ of Defense over here" even though it had no relevance to the argument. He'd just remembered Pagani mentioning that before he left for Miami.

"You can follow me, or you can wait here for our luggage; either way I'm going to get our rental keys."

Gritting his teeth Alboreto watched her walk away. _Damn it, she's worse than Marisa. At least my cyborg pretends to listen when I tell her not to do something._ As he kept his eyes on the member of the Council of Ministers that he was responsible for protecting the two suitcases passed him by and he had to wait for the entire baggage carousel to make another lap.

The two rode a shuttle bus out to the rental car lots, where Monica handed him the key to their car. "I'm carrying a fake driver's license, but I haven't actually driven my own automobile in nearly seven years...do you mind?" She handed him the key.

"Not at all" replied Elio, but then something caught his attention. "This is a Ford key. I specifically requested a beige Toyota Camry back in Atlanta."

"Oh yes" Petris replied, "I upgraded us."

Elio rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Minister, the Camry is the best selling and most inconspicuous car in this country. Pray tell _what_ did you upgrade us to?" His question was answered when Monica walked directly to a bright red Mustang convertible. "Oh bloody hell you can't be serious...a convertible? Minister; _Kennedy_ rode in a convertible and we all know how that turned out! Besides, it'll attract far too much attention."

Minister Petris countered "Maybe in Italy where this would be considered a foreign exotic, but here a car like this is hardly out of place. It's not even an eight-cylinder model. Now please put our bags in the trunk so we can go check into our hotel."

_Hotel!_ Elio had forgotten all about that. On missions like this he was accustomed to looking for the most innocuous road-side motel he could find and pay in easy, untraceable cash. Something told him the Minister had an entirely different plan. "Have you made reservations yet?" he asked with dread.

"Of course" she answered, "I'm told the Bellagio is currently the best place in town."

Shaking his head Alboreto finally decided to put his foot down. "Minister, this is getting ridiculous, we are not on a vacation! The Bellagio is far too dangerous, it's exactly the kind of place a foreign dignitary would be recognized, even in disguise. Begging your pardon we need to be someplace inconspicuous, preferably in North Las Vegas. I am charged with your security; a task I do take seriously, but you can not keep taking advantage of our personal relationship to walk all over me!"

Seeing that he was serious Monica raised her eyebrows and nodded, adopting her politician persona. "Alright, you have a point, we'll _compromise_. You chose the hotel, but it must be downtown, on the Vegas Strip."

"It is not wise to compromise with your security, Minister."

"Time's running out Mr. Alboreto...pick a hotel."

With a low growl Elio conceded. "Alright, we'll stay on the Strip. The Imperial Palace...I checked it out on the map included with the in-flight magazine; it's recessed off the street so there's little chance of a sniper getting a clear shot at our window, and it has a large parking garage that exits to the block behind, on Winnick Avenue."

"Is it a nice place?" Petris asked him.

Pleased with himself for having taken at least a small victory Elio replied "Let's just say we'll be saving the Italian taxpayers some money."

**_5:07_**

Enjoying a night free from the typically horrifying dreams that cyborgs experienced Marisa slumbered peacefully, sprawled out under her duvet and taking up every inch of her bottom bunk. At least it was so until an invasive hand & insistent voice shook her from her sleep. "Marisa...Mari, wake up..."

"Uggghhh...Elio?"

"No, it's not Elio" whispered Triela, "it's someone with a whole lot less facial hair."

Mari rolled over to face her and groaned "Oh, jeeze, Triela, it's still dark out side, it's too early." A quick glance at her digital clock informed her that it was 5:07am.

Confident that her young partner was awake Triela flopped down into a chair and replied quietly "Tell me about it. Mr. Hillshire just called and said he's watching the weather report and it calls for rain. Since we have shoot-house drills this morning he wants to get out there early before the rain begins and the shoot-house turns into a flooded canyon."

"Oh, fucking hell" spat Marisa, throwing off the warm blanket, "if the shoot-house gets flooded why don't we just move the schedule around and do something else today?"

Yawning and resting her head on the table while Marisa tumbled out of bed Triela replied "Welcome to the world of Victor Hillshire."

Another voice joined their conversation "Is it time to awaken already?" yawned Amelia.

"No, sorry Amelia!" apologized Mari, "You have another two hours."

The bomb-squad girl's voice was a flat & monotone as always, but her frustration was still evident "To be awoken with four more hours would be preferable. Resuming sleep will be difficult." She rolled over and wrapped the quilt around her head.

As Marisa stumbled around getting dressed Triela kept her head down and grabbed a few more precious moments of rest. All too soon she felt a tug on her arm. "Lets get going" muttered the younger cyborg, her Kel-Tec already slung over her shoulder, "I doubt the dining hall will have anything ready for breakfast yet, but we could check."

"Victor told me to meet him at the shoot-house...said he'll grab something for us on the way in."

The forecast rain never manifested that day. A morning training session at the shoot-house typically lasted from 9am to noon...three grueling hours of dashing around corners and kicking down doors that could tire even the most enthusiastic cyborg. Owing to their early arrival Mari & Triela had completed a full three hours before any of their sisters even arrived for their training, but rather than declaring the task complete letting them off for the rest of the morning Hillshire simply considered it good luck and an excellent opportunity for extra practice. By the lunchtime hour the two cyborgs under his charge had been training for six solid hours.

"A double session?" gasped Agapita over her mushroom risotto, "In this weather?"

"At least it didn't rain" Marisa replied casually. Her muscles ached and she blinked about twice as much as usual owing to the burning powder dust in her eyes, but the red-head maintained a self satisfied grin. She had endured a six-hour Hillshire training session and still had enough steam left in her for afternoon class...which the German would also be teaching. The girls sitting at the table with she and Triela; Ilaria, Chiara, Claes, and Agapita offered their commiserations, which Mari accepted with a casual shrug, pleased that she had put forth a demonstration of her toughness & endurance sufficient to impress her friends.

For her part Triela was mostly silent, occasionally staring at Agapita when she knew the dark haired girl wasn't looking, and exchanging the occasional sad glance with Claes. Once she had finished eating she picked up her tray and left them with just a courteous nod. Marisa would have preferred to stay a talk a little while (especially since she was the center of attention) but seeing her de-facto partner leave she shoveled a few more bites away and excused herself to follow.

Triela walked fast and Mari did not catch up with her until they had reached the dormitory (which was largely empty during lunch-time). "Wait up!" panted the red-head, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing, I just want to get my notes ready for English class...it's not my strongest subject."

"That's a bunch of bull" Marisa retorted, "you were just fine at the range, and when Mr. Hillshire drove us back, but since the minute you sat down to lunch you've acted like someone ruined one of your best bears in the wash cycle. Are you & Claes fighting or something?"

With a groan of frustration the Senior Cyborg replied "It's not Claes, okay? Listen...no, wait, come in here." Triela took Mari by the arm and pulled her into the largely unused men's locker room (why there was a men's room in a girl's dormitory had never been satisfactorily explained, but it was there just the same). She carefully checked every toilet and shower stall before pulling Marisa into one of the toilet stalls and closing it behind them. She spoke in a harsh whisper; "I pulled you in here because it's relevant to what I'm about to say. I have been _absolutely forbidden_ from discussing this with anyone, so if you go flapping your mouth I'm gonna wind up scrubbing toilets and you're gonna get your head shoved in one every single day until I'm out of trouble, _capito_?"

"Yeah, I understand" whispered Mari, thoroughly intimidated by her elder, much stronger sister's threat. It wasn't difficult to tell that Triela was not bluffing.

Once she was confident that Mari understood the seriousness of all this Triela softened her tone and admitted "It's Agapita; I knew her before she was a cyborg."

Marisa responded with absolutely zero tact; "Holy Shit!" causing Triela to cover her mouth roughly.

"Shhh!" the older cyborg scolded, "every girl in this dorm has super sensitive hearing! Keep your voice down!"

"Okay, sorry" Marisa whispered, and repeated in a much lower voice "Holy shit."

"She looks a little different now" the blonde girl explained, "but that's to be expected I suppose. She was blown nearly to bits by a bomb some bastardo planted in her football pitch...she used to love football more than anything." Triela seemed close to tears when she said that last bit.

"Aggie loved _football_?" muttered the younger cyborg in astonishment, "But she hates getting dirty & sweaty!"

Triela sat down on the toilet seat and sighed "There are so many things that are different about her. She was crazy & reckless & so much fun. I felt like a total stick-in-the-mud around her, but she still wanted to be my friend. Some friend I turned out to be...I can't even look her in the eye now...not that those are the same eyes I remember."

Feeling helpless to make her friend feel any better Mari said "Lots of things aren't the same...but she's lucky in a way. She could have been killed, or stuck in a hospital bed for the rest of her life. Now maybe she can get a chance to take back some revenge on whoever hurt her."

"Rico & I already eliminated that scumbag" spat Triela, "at least the one who planted the bomb. If we ever catch the _dannato mafiosi_ that put out the contract I'm going to pull them apart joint by joint while they're still breathing." She sighed, allowing some of the angry tension to escape from her voice. "But that won't to a thing for the girl Agapita once was...or give her back to her father."

"Maybe that's true" Marisa answered, "but tell me...you love Mr. Hillshire, right?"

Triela seemed a bit surprised by the direction Mari was taking this. "Yeah, I mean my feelings are complicated but..."

"Don't over complicate it...you love Mr. Hillshire. I know that because I love Elio...more than anything" said the younger girl, "and Agapita loves Major Mancini. We cyborgs are never going to grow up...get married...have children, so our handlers are the absolute love of our lives. Sure Aggie...or whoever she was before, got robbed of all the things that come with a normal life, but she was lucky to get something good out of it as well. I don't think that most people who get blown up by bombs are that lucky. Sometimes I think Henrietta is a massive doofus but she's right about one thing; her handler is the best thing she has in life...and at least to some degree that's true with all us cyborg girls. None of us really know much about our former lives, but I don't think a single cyborg would trade what we have now...with our handlers, to get that back."

"I guess that's one way to look at it" muttered Triela. She looked up at Mari and added "A pretty good way in fact, but it's always gonna be difficult for me because when I look at Agapita I can't help but see a past that she doesn't even remember." Triela was silent for a few moments, and since Mari had said all she could think of to say she was as well. "Could you excuse me for a few minutes? I'll catch up with you in class."

"Eh, sure," Marisa replied, "but are you gonna be okay?"

"I will be" answered Triela, looking a bit pale "but by telling you all that I just disobeyed a very big order from both Hillshire and the Chief. I've _really_ gotta throw up now."

**_Meeting in the Desert_**

After checking into the Imperial Palace jet-lag caught up with Minister Petris and her bodyguard. She immediately retired to her bedroom and was not seen for the rest of the evening, but Elio fought fatigue long enough to make a comprehensive exploration of the entire hotel before he too surrendered, laying out on the roll out couch in the living room as he read the Minister's dossier on Justin Callais.

In a remarkably short amount of time the 28 year old man had parlayed a family inheritance into bio-technology millions by playing it fast and loose with ethical concerns. When Europe, Canada, Australia and the United States tightened restrictions on primate testing Callais simply moved his laboratories to mainland China and continued experiments on chimpanzees and orangutans that even his colleagues in the scientific testing community condemned as unnecessarily horrific. More recently a shipment of his genetically modified rice had been turned away by safety inspectors in Norway, so Callais simply bought up an entire season's rice crop in Bangladesh, sold that to the Norwegians, and foisted the unsafe GM rice off on the people of Bangladesh for an even higher price. There were fierce accusations by international aid groups that this substandard rice caused over 200 deaths that year, but Callais' firm was able to stifle such criticism in the international press. Dealing with characters such as this made Alboreto sick with disgust...at least the terrorists he was accustomed to killing were working toward a political or social goal. Men like Justin Callais perpetrated acts just as damaging for money alone...acts that could potentially trigger new waves of terrorism and hatred against the industrialized west. Slamming the dossier shut, Elio tried to get some sleep.

With the coming of morning he was awakened by the muffled sound of a telephone ringing. Alboreto struggled to his feet and pulled a shirt on, staggering gracelessly toward the Minister's door but not opening it. He had been hoping to overhear the call, and thereby get a clue as to what was going to happen next, but it was impossible to make out what was being said. _I could really use Marisa's ears right now_. From minute one he'd been sure the Minister hadn't been telling him everything, and if he had to resort to spying on her in order to protect her..._so be it_.

Fortunately Elio had stepped away from the door by the time it opened. Monica had shed her disguise, and now looked every bit the Minister of Defense for Italia, wearing a tasteful suit, pearls and her natural hair color. "Sorry for the short notice, Alboreto, but we need to get on the road immediately. That was my contact, we have a meeting in an hour."

"A meeting with _who_, Minister?" growled Elio, "I need to know more...I need to reconnoiter the meeting site...I really should have a weapon."

Petris shook her head and replied "I'm afraid you don't even have time for a shower. I apologize for that, this meeting came up a lot faster than I thought it would. Throw some proper trousers on Elio, and don't be bashful, there's nothing there I haven't seen before."

"Very funny" grumbled the man, taking his clothes & shaving kit into the bathroom "to be honest I'd rather you remember it as it looked 30 years ago. Where are we going anyway?"

"You'll be happy with this" Monica replied, "the meeting is up in North Vegas, near Nellis Air Force Base. I have an address plus GPS coordinates."

Elio's feelings were the opposite of happy. North Las Vegas was the poorer part of town, excellent to hide out in but not to his liking for a potentially dangerous meeting. He's have preferred a public place with lots of witnesses, but it was not him calling the shots this time. "Do you have a map?" he asked, running a comb through his black dyed hair. Monica leaned into the bathroom and placed a computer printed Google Earth image on the counter. "This isn't North Vegas, it's out in the desert" Elio took his toothbrush out of his mouth to tell her.

"It is?" Petris called back from the living room, "It looked to me like there were some buildings about."

"One petrol station and a few sheds by the looks of it...Minister I don't need to tell you we're walking into an ideal spot for an ambush." Elio at last exited the bathroom. "Is there any way to get back in touch with your contact? I'd really like to re-negotiate this meeting."

"Having a cyborg partner hasn't made you soft, has it Alboreto?" teased Monica.

Elio scowled at her disapprovingly and replied "Having a reckless 11 year old partner has forced me to become a great deal more _careful_. I'd expected slightly less trouble from you, Madame Minister."

"Well you may feel to free to make me stand with my nose in the corner after the mission is complete, but right now time is against us...we need to get going. Be sure to bring your valise."

* * *

After making it to the rendezvous site with only seconds to spare Monica & Elio discovered that their contact had not arrived at all. "Well that's damned unprofessional" the Minister complained, scanning the surrounding desert with a pair of binoculars. It was a clear morning, but Elio had insisted on keeping the convertible top of the Mustang up to avoid exposing the Minister to curious eyes.

"Stay in the car" he ordered, "I'm going to have a quick look around." Alboreto stepped out onto the rocky soil and wandered over to the run down filling station. Inside a clerk slept and two filthy mechanics played a game of checkers while a bloodhound that Elio could smell all the way across the room snored at their feet. With a nod to the board-game players he drew a pair of water bottles from the cooler and left two dollars (he had exchanged some euros at the hotel) on the counter, never waking the clerk.

As soon as Alboreto stepped back into the sunlight he rolled his eyes in frustration. Minister Petris was 20 meters away from the Mustang, admiring a human figure made of old auto parts welded together. Resolving to chose his battles Elio did not chide her. "It's rather creative kinetic sculpture" Petris pointed out, poking the assemblage so that it rocked back and forth, "the springs that make up the spine, knees & elbows are a clever touch."

"Those are valve springs," he commented, opening a water bottle and handing it to her, "probably three V-8 engines worth. It looks like something Allison would dream up if Brian McDonnell would allow her to decorate the country with rusting auto parts."

The Minister chuckled "I appreciate the fact that he doesn't. This sort of folk art is entertaining but I hardly think it would be appropriate for the _Galleria degli Uffizi._" The two walked around a bit, pointing out various bits of flora & fauna exotic to Europe. "I believe I've chosen the wrong shoes for an excursion into the desert" joked Petris, as Elio held his arm out to steady her. "Oh, look at that!"

A medium sized snake sat coiled in their path, taking in the morning sun. "Careful; it's a rattlesnake, a North American subfamily of pit vipers," Elio informed her, "I don't know exactly what species this one is but in any event we're lucky to see one so late in the year." Crouching down he thumped the ground to the animal's left, attracting its sluggish attention (the reptile had not accumulated much body heat so early in the November morning) and setting off the trademark rattle. With his other hand he snatched the animal behind the head and gently flipped it off the path.

"Show off;" chided Monica with a bemused smile, "next time use a stick...even _The_ _Godfather_ isn't immune to venom."

"I suppose you're right" Alboreto conceded. He'd scolded Marisa for doing the same thing a few months ago; picking up a Meadow Viper while exploring a rocky hillside during their vacation to Pozzuoli Bay. At the time she had given the ridiculously illogical excuse that since it was an endangered species it could not hurt her.

Elio's attention was caught by a dust cloud moving toward them. "Game on, Minister" he announced. She spotted it too, and nodded. As it grew closer they identified the car as a dark-green Plymouth Minivan, not exactly what either of them had expected from the multi-millionaire owner of an American biotechnology firm...but perfect for carrying multiple gunmen. "Stay behind the Mustang...I don't like this a bit" he growled, feeling very helpless without even a side-arm.

"I agree" replied Petris in a concerned voice, "there's a weapon in the car...passenger side map pocket." He looked upon her with surprise. "Don't look so shocked Mr. Alboreto; it's the United States, they practically give the things away at the airport." Elio did indeed find a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson M&P automatic hidden where the Minister had indicated. "Keep it hidden," Monica instructed, "this should be a simple exchange, both parties want this to happen without a hitch." With a nod he tucked the pistol into the back of his trousers.

By now the minivan had reached their location. It came to a stop but the engine was still running. The passenger door opened and a single oriental man wearing a tropical shirt stepped out. He carried a briefcase.

"The driver too!" Elio called out over the 15 meter distance that separated the two vehicles.

"I have a series of hard drives containing your information" replied the man in the tropical shirt, holding up the aluminum briefcase and walking forward.

Alboreto sharpened his voice and repeated the order "Tell your driver to step out of the car!"

"You're serious?" the man called back. He turned to the driver and with a shrug of his shoulders said something neither Elio nor Monica could hear. The driver stepped out, looking annoyed by the inconvenience.

"Now open the side door" Alboreto continued. The oriental man seemed surprised by all this, but now that he was already standing outside the driver complied without question. With one hand behind his back, ready to draw the Smith & Wesson automatic, he advanced, and gave the minivan a quick look-over. "It's clear!" he called back to the Minister.

She was genuinely surprised. "Are you telling me there's no one else?"

"No, it's just these two" Elio reported.

"Where is Justin Callais?" she demanded angrily. The two men gave each other puzzled looks, but their confusion turned to fear when Elio drew the pistol and pressed it to the back of the driver's head. Monica Petris walked over and growled at the oriental man "What kind of nonsense is going on here? I was to meet Justin Callais this morning for the exchange...who the blazes are you?"

"Lady! I'm Mr. Callais' personal assistant, I have your data right here! There's no problem...tell this guy to put the gun away!"

"Mr. Brickford, kill the driver if this man does not answer my questions" ordered the Minister. The inclusion of the word _Brick_ in her statement...implying the color red...was prearranged code between the two which told Elio it was a bluff. He played up the act, pressing the pistol's barrel up against the driver's head, and making some random clicking sounds with the safety switch.

"Oh shit...oh shit...oh shit!" moaned the driver, dropping to his knees. It was obvious that neither of these men were professionals, but Alboreto kept the weapon trained on him in case real professionals were waiting nearby.

Frantically, the man in the tropical shirt tried to explain; "Lady, we were just told to run an errand! Drop off a bunch of hard drives...pick up a bag! Mr. Callais is still in Los Angeles! Fuck...we don't know a thing!"

Minister Petris took a few steps closer and hissed "My meeting was to be with Mr. Callais himself. So, _Mister Personal Assistant_, you tell him I want to see him tomorrow...in person, or the deal is off. He knows who I am, and he knows my time is valuable. You tell him to call me before 2pm this afternoon." She nodded at Alboreto, who backed away and covered both men with the pistol as the Minister walked away.

Once she was gone Elio growled "Get in the car and drive. Do not look back." The two men need no urging; they practically fell over themselves scrambling back into the minivan.

"Care to explain what the hell that was all about?" muttered Elio, returning to the Mustang where Monica was already waiting.

"The plan was for me to meet with Justin Callais in person" she replied curtly, "I traveled halfway around the world undercover and he has the nerve to send an assistant?"

Alboreto tossed up his hands in abject frustration "Is this about _ego_? He had the damn information and you turned him away! Wasn't it our mission to secure the data?"

Petris turned a fierce eye on him and snapped "Correction Mr. Alboreto...it is my mission to secure the data, and complete other tasks that you are unaware of. Your mission is to support me as I see fit."

Uncowed by her sharp tongue Elio launched a heated retort; "My mission involves getting you back to Italy safely, _Minister_, and I've been cutting you a lot of slack in terms of exposure! Make a choice, Monica...either you're my boss and you respect my security decisions or you're my old friend and you'll tell me what the hell I need to know! You can't have it both ways, damn it!"

She was silent for a few moments before saying "That's the first time you've called me Monica like you used to." She opened the passenger door of the Mustang and suggested "It's getting close to lunchtime...let's find something to eat."

"Top up or top down?" growled Alboreto, trusting her to understand the metaphor.

"Top down Elio" she replied before getting into the car, "I'll explain more over lunch."

**_Spies_**

Of all the languages Mr. Hillshire taught English class was the easiest for Marisa. She still had to study, but unlike German & French there was a certain familiarity to it...like she was being reminded of something she already knew. Pronunciation came as easily as vocabulary & grammar, although she did speak with an Irish lilt that nobody could explain or break her of.

By comparison Triela struggled with the tongue. She was already fluent in German & French (as well as the pre-programmed Italian that all the girls spoke on a daily basis) but English grammar, with its mixed up nouns & verbs vexed her to no end. Being the Academic Supervisor's cyborg, she felt heavy pressure to be at or near the top of every class, but in this subject alone she fell embarrassingly short.

Despite Triela's struggles the class passed by incident free for both girls. Rachel distinguished herself by reading aloud a Robert Frost poem, demonstrating perfect pronunciation & inflection throughout. This drew a jealous scowl from Marisa, who considered Allison & Rachel her most serious competition to be the first cyborg to pass Mr. Hillshire's fluency certification exam for English. She gave Rachel the courteous applause she deserved, but inwardly resolved to practice hard & have a D.H. Lawrencepoem ready to recite before the next English class...or maybe T.E. Lawrence, she had trouble keeping those two straight.

At the end of the lesson Mr. Hillshire dismissed the girls, and excused himself, citing an appointment with Jean and Ferro to discuss space utilization issues as the reason he could not stay and answer any after-class questions (as was his usual custom). The cyborgs stood respectfully as they had been trained to do when a teacher exited the room, and once he was gone began filing out. Triela caught Mari's wrist as she passed and whispered "Wait up, okay?"

Once all the other girls had gone the blonde haired girl instructed "Stand lookout for me for just a minute. No, not at that door...the teacher's entrance."

Nervously Marisa asked "What are you doing?"

"Just taking a peek" replied Triela, dashing to the speaker's podium and flipping open Hillshire's grade book.

"Triela!" whispered the younger girl loudly, "Mr. Hillshire is gonna have us _reconditioned_ if he catches you spying!"

"That's why you're on lookout, dummy" she replied "I just wanna see how I did on last Monday's exam." After scanning the entire page Triela closed the book with a frown, and wandered over to take a seat in the front row. Curious, Marisa abandoned her post and went to take her own look, disregarding the danger.

"You didn't do so bad" commented Mari.

"Lots of others did better" Triela sighed.

Marisa tried to cheer her big sister; "Those are the older girls. They listen to a lot of pop music in English so they get practice understanding it."

"What about you?" muttered the Senior Cyborg, "You kicked my butt on that exam."

"English just kinda comes easy for me," Marisa consoled her "it's no reflection on you." Despite her sympathetic demeanor Mari felt a bothersome tinge of indignation that Triela was making her feel _guilty_ for being good at something.

"I'm the Senior Cyborg...I'm _expected_ to be a top performer and I know anything less disappoints my handler. He'd never admit it to my face, but I can tell when he's genuinely proud and when he's just trying to spare my feelings." Leaning back to stare at the ceiling Triela confessed "I'd really like to take...and pass...my English fluency certification exam before it's too late for me, but at the rate I'm going I'll never even get asked."

Victor Hillshire's fluency certification exams were legendary for their difficulty, but passing one carried with it the promise of rich rewards from one's handler, the prestigious opportunity to do translation work with the agency adults in the office, and the envied role of teacher's assistant in class. Passing the grueling three hour trial, with written, oral, comprehension & artistic portions was no simple challenge. Furthermore a cyborg could not just take the test when she felt like it...she had to be _invited_ to test when Mr. Hillshire deemed her ready. Only a small handful of girls had passed the daunting exam in either French or German, and Triela stood alone as the only cyborg to have ever passed _two_ of them (although it was generally agreed that Monty could knock out both French & English if she'd only be willing to subject herself to the indignity of a six hour grilling by Victor Hillshire). Privately, Mr. Hillshire had informed Mari that with continued progress in English she might expect an invitation to test in as little as nine months. She wondered if her rivals Allison & Rachel had gotten a similar private talk from Mr. Hillshire.

"If you only could have seen Hillshire's face when I aced my German exam. He always _tells_ me he's proud of me...but that day I could tell he really meant it. The feeling was so wonderful that I studied my butt off to pass the French certification a year later, just to feel it again."

"Was it as great the second time around?" Marisa asked her.

Triela turned her head to face her and replied lustily "Better! Believe me; I could kill two dozen Padania militants in a single night and it wouldn't impress Mr. Hillshire as much as a well delivered speech about Goethe's _Das Märchen._"

Marisa nodded her head and declared "Well then I'll help you get better at English. You help everyone else enough...it's about time you got some return on your investment."

Triela looked surprised "You'd do that?"

"Sure" the younger girl replied, proud to help, "we're always hanging out in each others rooms, doing our homework at the same time. It only makes sense."

With a humble smile Triela softly replied "I'd like that a lot." She hopped up from her seat and said in a more cheerful voice "Now I'm almost eager to get to my homework! What do we have tonight, a one page essay on a film we've seen, right?"

**_Special of the Day_**

The roadside diner that Elio & Monica chose for lunch could have been described as _run-down retro_. It had last been decorated in the early 1980's when nostalgia for the 50's was running high, but by now the memorabilia decorating the walls was faded, the chrome trim was peeling and all of the booths had duct tape patches covering the tears in their turquoise vinyl seats (_"Terrific stuff, duct tape" _mused Elio,_ "one of the finest inventions these Americans have ever come up with"_). The paper place-mats advertized a variety of cocktails, none of which the roadhouse diner actually served.

There were certainly better places to eat, even in North Vegas, but the Italian pair wanted someplace out of the way where they could talk without being noticed. "Look at this...they actually have lasagna on the menu" Monica observed with surprise, "I wonder if it's any good."

"I hate to be the pessimist, but I'd advise against it" replied Alboreto, keeping one eye on the menu and one on the dusty parking lot, "experience has led me to always stick with what the locals are good at."

"Which in this case is?" the Minister asked him.

Elio answered "I'm still trying to figure that out..."

Luckily for both the waitress had a far better knowledge of the cook's talents, and offered the two foreigners some valuable recommendations, including "Avoid the _Special of the Day_...it's whatever leftovers we couldn't sell yesterday."

Once the woman had taken their orders Monica looked at her bodyguard earnestly and offered "Now's as good a time as any...I'll answer whatever questions I can, and I hope that's enough to satisfy you."

"Let's start simple, Monica" he began, "where did you get the gun? I was with you all day yesterday...the only time I left was when you were asleep."

She answered honestly; "It was in the Mustang, planted there by my contact with the US government."

"Who is?"

"The CDC" she replied.

Elio was not expecting to be surprised, but she had thrown him a curve. "The Center for Disease Control hands out _firearms_?"

"A CDC agent provided it for us, yes" she explained. "They planted it in the car and left it at the airport for us. That's why I canceled your reservation for that boring Camry...the CDC already had a car waiting for us, and I've been carrying a set of keys since Milan."

"You even got a fake rental contract for the glove box...clever," Elio grumbled, "but I don't see why you couldn't tell me all that."

"These favors aren't coming free" Petris muttered, taking a sip from her water glass, "the CDC is helping us, but they may want us to do a favor for them at the end of the job."

Alboreto nodded with a smirk and replied "The kind of favor you can't tell me about I assume..."

"Sorry" replied the Minister, "but moving on..."

"Yes; how do you intend to pay for the data?" asked Alboreto, "I saw no briefcase full of cash...and a wire transfer would just involve more people."

This time Monica chuckled. "You've been carrying it all along."

"Oh hell...the valise?"

"It's got €500,000 cash sewn into the sides and another seven million in assorted European Treasury Bond certificates hidden in the base" she explained.

"You know it's illegal to enter the US with more than $10,000 undeclared cash, right?" growled Alboreto, "I thought we were keeping a low profile...what if that bag had been searched at customs?"

"Again, the CDC arranged for that. Our customs agent was paid off to let you slip through without a search."

"And how deep does this go? Who in the American Government is in on this conspiracy?" continued Elio.

Monica did not make eye contact and seemed to be a little embarrassed by the answer she gave "Very few. Less than three people in the State Department are coordinating this...and a small team from the CDC is doing the leg work. It's just a group of individuals trying to fix a screw-up before it blows up in all of our faces. The Italian government is involved only because of that one miserable slide-show file."

"So _nobody_ in US Intelligence or Law Enforcement is involved?" groaned Alboreto.

"Nobody" she confirmed. "In fact, since we're using fake passports and we went through rigged customs we're both here illegally."

"Bloody hell Monica" Elio cursed, "this is even more reckless than I'd thought."

"Well it was supposed to be over by now" the Minister of Defense told him, "we'd have the data...and we'd be on our way back to Italy this evening. That's all in doubt now. If we miss our flight tonight we miss an important window of opportunity. Customs & air traffic screeners have been paid off in Las Vegas & Atlanta to let us pass through at a specific time, no refunds...all that will be wasted effort if we don't get out on time."

"And we will be stranded in Las Vegas with illegal documents" Elio finished the thought, "so why didn't you just accept the data when it was offered? We could be done by now!"

"Sorry, it's just important that I identify Justin Callais personally" Petris told him, "the rest I can't tell you right now." She stiffened in anticipation of another tirade from her companion, but Alboreto did not have any desire to fight left in him. It was a good thing...the waitress had just arrived with their orders.

**_Sparring Partners_**

The weather outside was cold, windy and rainy, so they cyborgs on compound that night counted themselves lucky to be inside the cozy dorm instead of out on assignment. With Claes in a _leave me alone_ mood & Amelia unfortunate enough to be out on a mission in Livorno, Marisa's room became the de-facto hangout that Friday evening. It had started out with just Mari & Triela working on their English lesson together, but as often happened, where the Senior Cyborg went a small crowd soon gathered. Thankfully, Marisa's electric teapot proved equal to the demands placed on it, although she had to borrow some extra cups from Ilaria's room.

"The grammar & vocabulary look really good..." commented Marisa, looking over her older sister's essay about a movie she'd seen, "...you used the same word a whole lot though...maybe we need to look up some English language synonyms for _symbolic_." She reached over to her Italian-English dictionary/thesaurus that she'd been using to check spelling. The heavy volume had been a present from Elio, and while she had thanked him profusely for it she'd secretly considered the gift about as exciting as tube socks on Christmas morning. Time had proven her wrong though and the book had vindicated itself as far more useful than many of the more exciting gifts her handler had given.

"Ugh...I should just write _symbolisch_ in German and claim I was being ironic" grunted Triela, thumping her head on the table comically.

Reading on, Mari continued "Here's a problem..._the hero infiltrated the villain's evil fortress_...the fortress can't be evil, it's just a building."

Triela agreed; "Okay, I'll scratch the word _evil_."

"Just move it to before villain..._the hero infiltrated the evil villain's fortress_..." suggested the younger girl. She nearly shrieked when Triela drew a line through the whole section and scribbled some notes above it. "What are you doing? Just erase it!"

"This is only my rough draft" answered Triela, "I'm going to re-write the whole thing neatly when I'm satisfied with the finished product. Don't you do that?"

Marisa gave an embarrassed giggle and admitted "Not if I don't have to." Her attention turned to Henrietta, who was seated next to Triela. "How about you 'Etta...do you want me to take a look over your essay as well?"

"Mine is just fine" declared the chestnut haired cyborg haughtily, "I asked Giuse to review it before he left the compound this afternoon." Marisa & Triela exchanged a bemused look; the younger Mr. Croce was not exactly renowned for his English skills either. Henrietta's essay was (predictably) more about the experience of watching a movie with her beloved handler than the actual motion picture itself, but the assignment was intended to be writing practice, so its content mattered little.

Marisa stood up and leaned over the table to peer at 'Etta's paper. "It looks good...but you might want to re-check the spelling" she cautioned, pointing out a possible error. "I'm pretty sure it was pop-corn that you ate with Mr. Giuse...you added an extra '_O_'...which makes it sound kinda gross." Crimson faced with frustrated embarrassment Henrietta feverishly scratched out the offending word with her eraser and penciled in the change. None of the cyborgs present could stifle their giggles, but 'Etta managed to succor her wounded pride by dropping a few more spoonfuls of sugar into her tea.

* * *

Saturday mean no classes, and training limited to the discretion of individual handlers. Hillshire had nothing planned for his two girls (he had been taking a lot more weekends away from the compound lately, Triela observed) so Triela & Mari had the day off. Marisa was sure Triela would have better things to do with a whole day to herself, but she was surprised when the older girl still wanted to hang out. "What do you feel like doing?" asked the red-head.

"It's too cold to do anything outside" muttered the Senior Cyborg, watching through a rain-lashed window as Claes & Melanie struggled with a tarp to cover the former's garden. "I usually spend a few hours at the gym when the weather's like this." It was as good an idea as anything Marisa had planned so she nodded in accord.

Outside the weather was as foul as it had looked through the window; and having changed into their workout clothes at the dorm the two had to sprint all the way to the cyborg gymnasium, shivering in the cold rain. "Note to self;" laughed Triela as they toweled themselves off upon arrival, "no more short pants in _November_."

"We'll be warmed up soon enough" countered Mari, wringing water out of her braided pigtails. Wasting no time the red haired girl went to work on the heavy bag, bobbing & weaving like a boxer as she pounded viciously on her inanimate adversary. The cyborgs required a punching bag that challenged the limits of current textile technology; nylon & even Kevlar covering split under the intense attacks of their tiny fists. Even the "wooden man" training dummy...shipped all the way from Japan at great expense to Mr. Pagani...had lasted less than a week before it too had been pounded into splinters. The eventual solution came directly from the SWA's own laboratory. A bag which could withstand both the power and tiny focus of the cyborgs' blows was created using the same heavy duty matrix that reinforced their own skin. Since this nanotechnology material was semi-biological it could heal itself, but it did lead to the surreal requirement that the punching bag had to be fed & watered once a week like a houseplant.

Triela for her part started by stretching, sitting in the center of the sparring ring and reaching far enough to touch her forehead to her kneecaps. Once warmth had returned to her artificial muscles she stood up and watched her younger sister for a while; leaning on the ropes while she studied her form. "Not bad, short stuff" she complimented, "seems you know enough to keep moving."

"I've learned that the hard way" admitted Mari, who had been hit in the head a few times. She laughed as she maintained her assault on the heavy bag.

With a chuckle of acknowledgment Triela continued; "Well a lot of cyborgs at your stage of experience just stand with their feet planted and pound the bag. So, do you feel up to sparring a few rounds?"

Marisa's fists & jaw dropped at the same time. "For real?" she uttered breathlessly, her eyes cartoonishly wide.

"Only if you want to" offered the older girl, unsure if Mari would be willing to take on a Series Once cyborg.

She _was_ willing. "I have been dreaming about this day since I first read your mission reports." Despite having known & worked with Triela for months now all the feelings of hero worship that Marisa had felt when she first arrived from the Dive Training Center flooded back into her. Now it was actually going to happen..._I'm really going to fight __Triela__!_

It would have been easy to poke fun at her awe, but instead Triela gave an indulgent smile and pulled the middle rope up. "Well then grab some gloves and come on in" she invited.

They started off slow, Triela always on the defensive as they ran through a few basic drills Major Sales had shown her. Gradually the pace picked up, and within minutes Marisa was pressing a controlled attack against her older sister as Triela blocked and gave pointers. "Your footwork is great," she pointed out, "toe turned in, pushing the direction you want to go with the opposite foot."

"Thanks" Mari panted, "it was one of the first things Elio taught me. _It doesn't matter how strong you are if your opponent gets you off balance_."

"Good advice" replied Triela as she deflected a series of jabs from the younger cyborg, "but don't forget to use your whole body to attack...not just you hands."

"Like this?" Marisa laughed, rotating her shoulders to deliver a powerful elbow strike to her opponent's exposed thigh. Triela gasped at the impact...she'd been caught off guard by a blow strong enough to break the femur of a normal human being. She reacted automatically with a strong open palm strike to Mari's forehead...too strong in fact, as it sent the Series Two girl tumbling head over heels until she was caught by the ropes. "Sorry about that" Triela offered, a little ashamed about letting her temper take control.

Mari was sitting on her butt at the edge of the ring, but shook it off quickly. "Not a problem...it was my fault, I started playing rough first." Grinning fiercely she hopped up, wiped a trace of spit from her cheek and attacked with gusto. This time she didn't hold back, trusting in Triela's superior strength and experience to keep the game friendly. Triela had to draw on that experience heavily, as her diminutive sparring partner was turning out to be a relentless demon. She carefully kept her power in check but a few times the Senior Cyborg was forced to use the advantage of her greater reach to keep the shorter Marisa at bay, chiding herself afterward for using an edge she knew she'd never have in combat against grown men.

At one point Marisa dropped down to sweep her opponent's legs from under her, and even though Triela jumped in time she still managed to catch the tip of her sneaker, throwing the taller girl off balance. Seeing an opportunity Marisa committed to a dangerous charge, but Triela was savvy and spun out of the way in time to catch Mari in the back with a shove. Bouncing off the ropes again Marisa recovered fast, but the Senior Cyborg took advantage of the two meter gap between them to call "Time Out!"

Both girls sat down with their backs leaning on the ropes, panting and smiling as they shared a water bottle back & forth. "Okay, it's official" Marisa admitted breathlessly, "you kicked my butt."

"It's not about that in training" corrected her elder sister, "you did good, you took my advice to heart, and any one of those tags you scored on me would have been game-over if you were fighting a normal human. In fact..." Triela inspected a spot in the middle of her thigh, already beginning to discolor, "...this is going to make a wicked bruise. You're lucky it's late autumn...if it was summer and I was stuck wearing long pants for the next week I'd be very pissed at you!"

"Sorry about that" apologized Marisa, but she knew her big sister was only teasing.

"It's okay" Triela told her, "but don't try a stunt like that if you ever spar with Henrietta. I guarantee she will take it personally and you will learn first hand what an angry Gen One cyborg can do. Something you may not know is that _physically_ Henrietta is even stronger than me."

Marisa nearly choked on her water. "She is? How can that be?"

"Claes got to take a peek at all of our biometric test results once" explained Triela. "The design process was still pretty haphazard when they built us, so no two Generation One cyborgs are alike. Sweet, demure little 'Etta got the most robust skeleton & muscles out of all of us...she could rip the engine block out of a small car if she wasn't so afraid of getting dirty." Marisa laughed at the veracity of her observation. "That's one of the reasons she causes so much damage when she goes into a '_Must Protect Guise!_' rage."

"Got it" Marisa confirmed with a nod, "if I ever spar with 'Etta, _play nice_. But come to think of it I've _never_ actually seen her in the sparring ring."

Shrugging her shoulders Triela explained "She's had basic hand-to-hand training from Georgio & Amadeo like we all do, but as you know it's not really her thing. She prefers to use firearms, and when she _does_ have to get physical she just crushes everything in her path. Besides, if 'Etta ever runs into someone with real skill she's got the good sense and humility to call her handler for backup...unlike the two of us." Triela rolled her eyes and gave a little blush at that last part.

"I wanted to talk to you about that" sighed Marisa, determining that now was as good a time as any. "You've heard what happened aboard that yacht down in Palermo a few weeks back, right?"

"I heard you kicked butt against a really tough customer" the Senior Cyborg praised, patting Mari on the back.

"He was _12 years old_" groaned the red-head, "and he nearly got the best of me. I'll admit it, I was _scared_ when I fought him. Triela I don't want to dredge up any bad memories for you, but how did you deal with it when Pinocchio beat you that first time?"

With a deep sigh Triela confessed "_Badly_. It rattled me down to my core. I cried, I yelled at my handler when he was only trying to help, I got so damn moody and hard to live with that Claes almost moved out. I was behaving like such a spoiled brat I'm surprised they didn't recondition me."

"Wow," muttered the younger girl, "you sure don't get to read about _that_ in the mission reports. You didn't start feeling better until you beat him?"

"Nah, before...if I'd gone into the fight as messed up as all that Pinocchio would have chewed me up and spit me out" explained Triela. "It was training with the GIS that got my head straight. I learned a lot...but most importantly their commander Major Sales kicked my butt _every single day_." She laughed hard at the bittersweet memory. "I mean it; for two weeks he made a point of giving me a daily thrashing, even if he was busy. At first it was upsetting, having someone defeat me so easily, but after a few days I began to understand. No matter how many times I got beaten I still had friends, a warm bed and a handler that cared for me. I began to understand what was important and what I was really fighting for."

"Which is?" asked Marisa.

"You don't just fight just for the sake of winning," said Triela, "you make yourself _win_ for the sake of what you love. It just took losing day after day for me to understand what that was. Aww hell, listen to me, prattling on like I know everything...I may be the oldest cyborg but I'm still just a kid like you. It just turns out that friends, a good cup of tea and a shelf full of stuffed bears from my handler was enough motivation for me to take out a killer like Pinocchio."

Mari thought about her sister's words deeply "It really helped you that much?"

"Sure did" answered the blonde, "in fact, Major Sales teaches a 2-week advanced skills class about twice a year. It's really hard to get into but I'm going to recommend you for it...you're still pretty new but given a little practice you'll be ready."

"Did he really kick your butt _every single day_?" Marisa asked nervously.

"Even the day I left" Triela warned with a giggle. "You'll find out soon enough. Truth is I'd love to teach you some tricks and maybe you can give the Major a surprise when you see him. It'll be like sending him a little hello card!" She got up and brushed the seat of her shorts. "Had enough of a break? I'm ready to spar again!"

**_Night on the Town_**

The call came in at five minutes before two...and a new meeting was arranged. This time Monica deferred to Elio, who decided that the deal would be made on their turf...right inside the hotel room at the Imperial Palace. The downside was that Justin Callais would not arrive until late tomorrow morning. It was now inevitable that the two would miss their window of opportunity to clandestinely slip out of the United States. "You let me worry about that Elio" sighed the Minister, "I have a few more contingency plans up my sleeve. Please trust me and focus yourself on the meeting tomorrow. Callais will have certainly been briefed by his man that we are armed and dangerous...he will be showing up with more formidable men than we dealt with today." She walked into her bedroom and called back "Seems we have an entire afternoon & evening to burn. It's been a stressful morning, so personally I'm up for a little rest & recreation. Do I have your permission to go out on the town, Signor bodyguard?"

"I could complain about exposure and the security risk, Minister..." groaned Alboreto, "...but would it matter? I dare say you've already made up your mind." Resolving not to act so grumpy about it he added "You should be in disguise...just give me a half-hour to grab a shower and change." The risk really wasn't that bad...they'd be in public, where it would be difficult to make a move against the Minister. In fact it felt more like spending an evening with an old friend than being a one-man security detail. Armed with this new attitude he began to look forward to it.

With Monica in tasteful undercover attire (eschewing the absurd purple sweatshirt she'd worn on the airplane) and sporting more practical shoes the pair walked a good portion of Las Vegas Boulevard north of Flamingo Road, pausing to admire or poke fun at the ostentatious casinos that lined the famous strip. The Venetian (_at least it smells better than the real Venice_, opined the Minister) with its mechanically driven gondolas, Treasure Island, with its impressive and free pirate battle show & the volcano fountain at the Mirage all merited a look. As the sun drew lower in the sky and the desert winds picked up Monica & Elio took refuge by walking through the indoor shopping plaza attached to Caesar's Palace, the _Forum Shops_.

"So this is what Las Vegas thinks Rome is like..." conjectured the Minister.

"I believe it's supposed to be _ancient_ Rome" Alboreto replied, taking in the decor & character actors. Above them the lighting changed periodically, darkening the sky painted on the ceiling at the same time wall fixtures at "street" level brightened, giving the sensation of night time once every hour.

"Well, aside from the Roman Centurion with the Wayne Newton ring-tone on his mobile phone I dare say they've done a smashing job" Petris joked. Her attention was drawn to the window of one of the high-end shops. "Elio, look at this...your Marisa would look positively _darling_ in that."

"Perhaps, but there's the matter of that great big collar tag that says _Made in USA_. Nobody is to know we've been here, remember?" Alboreto pointed out, "Besides, I think I'd like to ensure that she hasn't destroyed the SWA compound in my absence before I consider bringing her gifts."

"Bah, you're too negative about her Elio" protested the Minister, slapping him lightly on the arm. "I know she's got her issues but during my private luncheon with the cyborgs I found her delightfully entertaining."

"_Oh lord_, what did she do?" Alboreto groaned. During the recent cease-fire with the Five Republics Faction Section Two had been sidelined as a condition of the peace talks. During this period Minister Petris had instructed Chief Lorenzo to arrange a formal luncheon, just she & the cyborgs with no other adults present, so she could get to know them on a personal basis. This order had led to three days of abject panic on the compound, as every single handler drilled his girl relentlessly on protocol, table manners and proper comportment around dignitaries.

"She did nothing but make pleasant conversation" Monica told the worried handler, "in fact she was one of the _few_ that did. You handlers must have absolutely traumatized the poor girls, most of them ate the entire meal in silence and gave one word answers to my questions, terrified that they'd have their memories wiped or worse if they said the wrong thing or used the wrong fork for their salad course."

"Well, that's what we led them to believe, so I'm glad to know our efforts were effective" teased Alboreto with a sinister grin.

Now that evening had arrived they drove the Mustang out in search of a place for dinner. With no reason or desire to seek out a seedy out of the way diner they tried the trendy & well recommended _Agave _Mexican restaurant, where Elio found himself impressed by the last page of the menu. "This is astonishing" he muttered breathlessly.

"What is?" inquired his companion as she made her own choices.

Alboreto shook his head in disbelief and explained "Well, it's been fifteen years since I've been to the United States, and back then there were only about three beer brands that dominated the market, and they were all watery flavorless swill. Now look at this...there's got to be three dozen different beers here, and a lot of them are brewed right here in the US!"

"Hmm, change for the better" remarked Monica, "so which ones are you going to try?"

He shook his head, "I shouldn't. We're enjoying a rather casual night but I'm still on the job."

"Nonsense" Petris scolded. She summoned the waiter over and instructed "Cancel the wine I ordered, please...I think I'll have a beer tonight. Please give us a few minutes to choose." She gave Elio a sneaky smile and said "See, you can't let me drink alone. Now you have to have at least one beer."

"Mrs. Petris you are a great deal of trouble" Elio chuckled, twisting a line from one of his favorite movies.

"To be honest I feel rather excited about it" Monica told him, "I dare say I haven't had a _beer_ in over 13 years."

Elio shrugged his shoulders and replied "You were always more fond of wine anyway...as I remember it at least." That struck a nostalgic chord in both of them. "I remember rowing ashore every evening. We had plenty of provisions aboard but the one thing we ran out of every day was wine."

"I'm surprised we didn't crash that yacht into the rocks" laughed Monica, "between the drinking & lovemaking there were a lot of distractions; it's a wonder we didn't sink."

Alboreto scratched his head and tried to recall specific facts that were now foggy in his memory "We actually did crash that boat into the rocks once, didn't we? It was low tide, and we had to wait twelve hours to float her off."

"What was its name?"

"The island we crashed into?"

"No," Monica asked, "the _name_ of the yacht we took?" Both of them thought hard about it, but were disappointed that they could not remember. "I guess a long time _has_ passed. Do you ever wonder what would happen if we'd taken a different path all those years ago?"

"By that do you mean...taken the same path?" concluded Elio, "That's a heavy question, Monica. A lot of things in our lives would have turned out different if we'd made an effort to stay together. For one you probably wouldn't be married to Rinaldo Petris...you met him only a few weeks after our adventure, right?"

Monica nodded. "Rinaldo is a dear man, and a brilliant composer, but I share him with all Italia, and most of all with his music. There's been no physical passion in our marriage for years."

"You still love him though" said Elio, "that much is obvious."

"Yes" sighed the Minister, "I do." She changed tack slightly; "And what about you...how might your life have been different?"

Elio's face became grave, and Monica immediately regretted bringing up such a brutal question. She was the older of the two by a few years, but looking into his eyes at that moment he seemed far more ancient & worn down than his 55 years. "I'd have no right to drag another person along on the journey I've taken" he said with a wan smile, "you just don't put anyone you care about through hell like that."

"Elio, you beat the drug addiction...you survived the years of being a government killer, and all the time you gave good service for the correct side. I've seen lesser men turn twisted & evil when subjected to half the torment you've experienced."

Feeling guilty about her forced attempt to make him feel better Alboreto put his hand up to stop her. "I gave up trying to find justifications or put my life in perspective years ago. It's been a long strange trip...that's for sure, and if anything it's just getting stranger. Thirty years ago could either of us ever imagine we'd be working together again because of a project that uses mechanical little girls as assassins?"

"It is surreal" Monica admitted, "sometimes I wonder if what we do with these kids is the greatest thing we'll ever do for society or the worst thing."

"Funny," muttered her companion, "I was thinking the same thing watching Marisa sleep once."

The waiter was returning to take their orders so Monica steered them away from the awkward topic by cracking a joke; "Just think, you'd have missed out on all of this if you'd accepted that job offer from the President of Angola."

"Oh _bloody hell_ Monica, not you too" groaned Alboreto, but both were laughing.

**_Signora Nanelli's House_**

Amelia & Cora were back from their mission in Livorno and the four bomb squad girls were reunited in their usual spots around the table that Saturday night, doing their favorite thing; working on a large jigsaw puzzle.

Taking an evening off from palling around with Triela, Marisa lay on her bottom bunk finishing the last few pages of a book Elio had given her. It was a quiet night for all, punctuated by the occasional whistle of the tea-pot and a bit of idle conversation.

"You have been reading that particular book for a long time, Marisa," observed Diana, "Is it enjoyable?"

"It is" answered the red-head, "lots of blood & battle & violence like I like...makes me miss Elio. It's sorta difficult to struggle through in places because the author uses a kind of archaic English. Even worse, sometimes he slips in words from some weird Elvish language he made up himself. A bunch of times I've stopped at a word I don't understand and try to look it up in my dictionary...only to feel stupid when I realize it's not even an English word!"

"Begging your pardon, Marisa...that is amusing" replied Bella, a glimmer in the heavily conditioned girls' eyes being the equivalent of hearty laughter from any of the more mainstream cyborgs.

"This is the third in a series of four books" Mari pointed out, "If anyone is interested you can borrow my copies of the first two. Please be careful with them if you do though...they were a gift from my handler."

"Thank you for your offer Marisa" Amelia answered, "but attempting to finish such long books is beyond the scope of our linguistic abilities; your English skills are superior to those which we possess. In addition, we have already seen the movies."

Mari dropped the book and covered her ears. "Shhh! Don't talk about them in front of me, okay? I've only got one book left and I don't want the ending ruined!"

Just a few moments later Triela knocked on the open door and popped her head in. "Hi girls, is Marisa here? Oh, good...hey, Hillshire just called, we've got a mission!"

"That's cool...good luck" sighed Mari.

Triela stepped fully inside and said "Well come on, shake a leg...Mr. Hillshire will be here in a few minutes to pick us up!"

That perked Marisa out of her lethargy; "I'm going too?"

"Well _duh_...you're part of our team until Elio gets back" muttered Triela, "unless you'd rather stay home and finish reading _The Two Towers_ than take out a Padania hit-man."

Rolling out of bed and stumbling as she pulled her shoes on Marisa exclaimed "No, wait up, I'm coming! What do I need?"

"It's just a quickie job over in Ostia...we'll be back before morning," the Senior Cyborg explained, "your side-arm should be enough."

As Triela waited Marisa gathered up her Beretta 92 and four empty magazines (Elio did not approve of ammunition being kept in the dorm, but it was always easy to grab a box of 9x19mm on the way out). Tossing on her shoulder holster and then a jacket over it she declared "I'm ready!"

Two hours later the three sat in Victor Hillshire's Mercedes estate wagon reviewing some final details about their target. "Angelo Battaglia is a guy we've wanted to get for a long time. He bounces around from city to city, and allegedly never spends more than one night in the same house" explained Hillshire, reading from the mission profile by the glow of a flashlight Triela held for him. "For three years he's been one step ahead of us but that ends tonight."

Marisa gave him a puzzled look and asked "If Battaglia is so slippery how did we catch up with him?"

"Good question; it was a tip-off" answered the German. "This house belonged to a long time Padania supporter named Umberto Nanelli, a friend of our Angelo, but when he died of liver failure last year the house passed to his wife, who has always been terrified of the assassin. The minute he showed up looking for a place to stay she snuck out, claiming she needed to go to the market & got in touch with the police."

Triela showed some concern about the information. "How do we know it's not a set-up? Can anybody be sure of the widow Nanelli's loyalties?"

"She's left her own house in favor of police protection" explained Hillshire, "and given us all the floor plans, as well as what room Battaglia is sleeping in. I'm reasonably satisfied she's telling the truth, but I'm more worried that our target will figure out she's gone to the police and be ready for us."

"So we'll be ready for _him_" growled the blonde cyborg, chambering a shotgun shell.

* * *

The Section Two team had Signora Nanelli's house keys, so rather than risk a dramatic attack they just came in the kitchen door, quietly, with no lights. "There are two floors...the bedroom is on the upper floor and it's where Battaglia will most likely be. Triela & I will go that way, Marisa, you search the ground floor." Mari was about to protest being left out of the likely action, but she backed down. This was Triela's fratello; she was just along for the ride.

"Yes sir" replied the younger cyborg, and she disappeared into the shadows.

Moving swiftly & quietly Triela located the main staircase. This was a critical danger area for an ambush so she motioned for Hillshire to stay close in case she had to act as his shield. The cyborg could have easily bounded up to the top floor in a single leap, but she was responsible for her handler and thus limited to his speed. She wished he would just wait in the car where it was safe, and let his two cyborgs handle this, but in recent months it had been impossible to keep Victor Hillshire from exposing himself to danger. The best Triela could do was predict where the shots would be coming from and always make sure she was in-between Victor and that point.

Upon reaching the upper floor Hillshire looked both ways and considered splitting up, but to his cyborg's great relief he opted to stay together. Using hand signals he communicated his intention to move on the most likely bedroom. Eager to stay ahead of him Triela moved a bit faster than he would have liked, but even in hard soled leather shoes she could step rapidly & without noise.

Without waiting for her handler's command Triela spun on her left toe and blasted the door open with a rotating kick which splintered the door frame but allowed her to stay out of the line of any ambush fire. To her chagrin Hillshire dashed through the open doorway with his SIG drawn and swept the room before she could enter. "_Damn it, I'm the bulletproof one with the infrared eyes! Stop trying to protect me!_" she thought. Oddly, they were met with none of the ambush fire they expected.

"He's not here" growled Triela, whipping around to cover behind them with her Winchester.

"Are your sure?" Hillshire asked, opening the closet and checking under the bed.

"I'm seeing zero heat signature" reported his cyborg, "the bed isn't even warm. I can only hear one heartbeat in the room as well...yours."

"Alright lets clear the other rooms" he ordered, "keep your guard up." One by one they inspected all the bedrooms on the top floor, and finally the bathroom.

"Damn it, look at that" pointed out Triela. The bathroom window was open, and there was a fresh footprint on the toilet seat. She hopped up to take a look for herself. "Mr. Hillshire there's a pretty sturdy rain gutter out here. Permission to go out side, track and peruse the target?"

With a discouraged sigh Victor put his pistol away. "No, he's long gone by now. Lets get some lights turned on and see if he's left any clues as to his next destination. Damn it this guy is slippery." Dropping their guard the fratello walked out into the hallway just in time to hear a loud crash from downstairs.

"Damn!" exclaimed Triela, both of them instantly aware that they had fallen for a trick. Hillshire bounded down the steps two at a time, but he was passed by his cyborg, who negotiated the entire staircase in one flying leap. The sounds of fighting continued...broken glass, splintering wood, the grunts of a man and the viscous snarling of Marisa. As he sprinted down the hall with his SIG drawn Victor cursed his decision to sent the weaker of the two cyborgs at his command out alone.

Triela paused for just a half step when she saw Mari's Beretta 9mm laying on the hallway floor. "Careful" ordered Hillshire, and coordinating their attack they both lunged into Signora Nanelli's main sitting room. "Marisa! Where are you? Report!" yelled the German.

All was quiet for a moment, a broken china cabinet being the only indication there had been a fight here recently. Then the freckled cyborg popped up from behind the sofa. She had a badly torn left ear from which fresh blood was running down her neck, but other wise she looked uninjured. "Got him" she panted, wearing a self-satisfied grin.

"Check again!" commanded Hillshire, never lowering his pistol, "Make sure he's dead!"

Marisa gave a puzzled look, but shrugged her shoulders and obeyed. She bent down and stood back up...clutching the severed head of Angelo Battaglia by his hair. "Yup, I'm pretty sure I'm dead" she mumbled, moving the jaw up and down with her finger on his chin as if it was the decapitated assassin himself speaking.

Hillshire rolled his eyes and lowered the SIG. Elio hadn't mentioned _this_ in his instruction manual. "Mari, was that really necessary?" asked Triela.

"Sometimes it just sorta happens" explained the young cyborg, shrugging her shoulders with piano wire in one hand and the human head in the other, "this guy just had a really skinny neck. It's a lot easier to fit them in the body bag this way though."

It would be useless to make any attempt to correct Marisa; her methods, grizzly though they were, had taken the victory this night so Hillshire just accepted it. "Alright, let's get this guy off Mrs. Nanelli's carpet. Triela, call in to dispatch and report the mission successful. I'm going out to the car to fetch the medical kit so I can have a look at that ear of yours, Marisa." He took two steps before turning back and remembering to say "Good work both of you."

**_Justin Callais_**

From their window in the Imperial Palace Elio & Monica could see a white Rolls Royce pull up in front of the main entrance, followed by a Cadillac painted the same color. "What do you want to bet that's our man?" muttered Petris, "Doesn't even let his bodyguards ride in the same car as him."

"Bad idea" muttered Alboreto, "but good for us. It means his bodyguards are amateurs...professionals would dictate the terms of protection."

"Like you do with me?" the Minister joked.

Elio shook his head and gave her a frustrated smile. "The point of riding in the same car is to stay close to your client...and I _have_ stayed right by your side as much as I possibly could."

In just a few minutes the visiting party arrived at the suite where Petris & Alboreto waited, and one reason Justin Callais & his bodyguards rode in a separate car became clear. These two men were obviously chosen for their size, each one was so girthsome he could not pass through the door without turning sideways. Between them walked the man Minister Petris had been waiting to meet.

Justin Callais had obviously dressed for Las Vegas. He wore a black sharkskin suit and maroon silk shirt, unbuttoned to expose a few gold chains. In the area of rings he had shown restraint with regards to quantity, but not size...flashing a huge, diamond studded pinkie ornament made of solid gold. His hair-line was receding but had not completely abandoned him yet, and he never removed his expensive sunglasses for the the entire visit, the duration of which he monitored with a gaudy, jewel encrusted Cartier watch. "Jeeze, what a dump this place is" he opined as he entered, "but I suppose for you Italians this is like the fuckin' Pope's palace." He motioned toward the bathroom and joked "Hey look...plumbing right inside your room, you don't have to go down the hall! Welcome to America, am I right, tough guy?" He addressed Elio directly, but the old spy only gave him a hardened glare. "Yikes," laughed the obnoxious millionaire, "does he bite? I hope he's had all his shots."

"Mr. Callais I'm sure we'd all like to get down to business so we can move along to more productive work" suggested Minister Petris, standing on her side of the room but not offering a handshake. She sat down and put he valise on the table.

"You're telling me" Justin replied, "there's a few showgirls over at the Tropicana that I'd like to get to work on as soon as possible." He sat down without being invited to do so. "There is one small problem with our negotiations though" he hissed, changing his tone to indicate he was ready to get down to business. "My personal assistant _quit_ yesterday over the somewhat unkind manner in which he was received. As I'm sure you know, Monica, good help is hard to find." Elio bristled at the man's use of the Minister's first name, but held his growl to himself.

"As I'm sure you appreciate" Petris replied calmly, motioning toward the two hulking bodyguards, "my man Alboreto is quite touchy about my security, especially when elements of a meeting do not go specifically to plan." Elio gave her a quick glance betraying his genuine surprise at the use of his real name. _Is she up to something?_

"Security's all well & good" muttered Callais, flippantly inspecting his manicure as he spoke, "although personally I prefer more than one old gray beard as a bodyguard." He looked up at his two massive protectors, who laughed on cue. "The primary reason I'm upset is the loss of my personal assistant. You've cost me time and money, so the price is now double. A million in cash and 14 million of whatever funny-money you people use over there in secured bonds. That's not a problem I hope?"

His composure nearly broken, Elio looked to the Minister, but she remained perfectly unshaken. "It will take some time to assemble, but I hope this will serve as collateral until we can produce the full payment." She handed over both she & Elio's (fake) passports. "Now you can be confident that we are unable to leave the country until you have your money."

"Very good picture, Monica!" he laughed, flipping both booklets open, "Well, I suppose there isn't much else to do here...you Italians are a lot more organized than I gave you credit for, but I suppose you're all pretty experienced at this mafia shit, aren't you? Italian mobsters built Las Vegas after all."

"Bugsy Siegel was of _Ukrainian_ descent" Minister Petris corrected.

"Yeah," chuckled Justin as he got up "he was the Jew that got shot in the eye, right?"

"That was only in the movie" growled Alboreto, unable to keep silent in the presence of the idiot. Rather than censure his indiscretion Monica gave him an approving look.

Motioning for one of his bodyguards to pick up the valise on the table Callais turned for the door. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you, Secretary of Defense Petris...you keep in touch now. And if I have to send a new assistant to handle the rest of the deal, please don't make this one shit his pants and quit, okay?"

"Ahem..." Minister Petris took a step forward and reminded "...the data, Mr. Callais?"

"Oh yeah" he chuckled flippantly, motioning for a bodyguard to place an aluminum briefcase on the table. "I'll be waiting for your call, don't make me wait too long" he said before leaving.

As soon as the door closed Monica dropped her dignified composure and scrambled to pull a lap-top computer from her travel bag. Working fast she popped open the briefcase Callais had brought her and began pulling out the 5 massive hard drives. "Elio, get yourself ready for action" she muttered, searching the data as fast as her computer could manage. 16 terabytes spread over five drives was a massive volume to scan, but Italian intelligence had supplied her with a computer specifically built for the task. Although she did not mention it to Elio it had been constructed by Section Two's own Lucretia and her handler Enzo Desimone.

"What kind of action?" asked Alboreto, sitting down next to her.

The Minister never took her eyes off the screen. "I couldn't tell you until we had the data but this is the favor we're doing for the American CDC...there! We've got our file! Elio; terminate Justin Callais!"

"Kill the man we just had a meeting with?" Elio asked, already fishing a pair of leather gloves from his bag (which Marisa affectionately called his_ murder gloves_).

"Make sure he doesn't leave the hotel" Monica ordered, "our CDC contacts have arranged for the security cameras to be down for six minutes, that should be more than enough time for a man like you." With a nod Alboreto went for the door, but Monica stopped him. "Need this?" She offered the Smith & Wesson pistol.

Elio shook his head. "Keep it with you. I can't be firing shots in a crowded hotel anyway."

The Minister nodded in assent as she packed away her computer. "I'll meet you at the Mustang" she informed him.

Alboreto dashed to the elevator to find that he had just missed Callais and his two lumbering bodyguards. He quickly found the emergency stairwell and rushed down as fast as he could without tripping and breaking a leg. Three floors down he judged that he had passed the elevator, and went back out into the hallway. He'd called it correctly, the elevator has not yet arrived on his floor, so he pushed the _down_ button.

Left with a few seconds to spare Elio searched for a weapon. It provided itself conveniently; a smiling young woman in a hotel uniform, who did not yet she was about to be an unfortunate participant in this drama, passed by pushing a room service cart full of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Alboreto turned so she could not get a good look at his face, then delivered a hard open-palm strike to her jawbone, dropping the young woman instantly. Unfortunately she hit her head on the cart as she fell, but Elio had no time to minister to the unconscious woman beyond dragging her into the stairwell.

He was done just in time, as a ringing bell heralded the arrival of the elevator Alboreto yanked from the cart the carving knife he'd attacked the hapless hotel waitress for. He had time for two or three deep breaths. "_No cyborg, no gun, time to dust off some of the old stuff,_" he told himself. As the doors slid open one of the hulking bodyguards held out his hand to stop anyone from entering, but Elio slashed that hand, and on the return stroke slashed straight across the man's eyes. Nothing in his meager training had prepared the huge bodyguard for savagery like this, and he fell to the elevator floor screaming and clutching his face, blinded by his own blood.

The assassin stepped inside that elevator, and within its tight confines Justin Callais recognized the folly of hiring bodyguards based on their size alone. One man was down & his second man could not even reach his gun. Calmly the gray beard pressed the _door closed_ button and continued his work, slamming the blade into the neck of Justin's second guard and sawing back and forth a few times to ensure he'd inflicted fatal damage. Elio took a moment to finish the first man; he jammed his knife between his ribs, but the blade snapped, leaving him without a weapon.

Both of Justin Callais' protectors were already dead though, and the man stood cowering before Elio in the elevator. "Oh g-g-god...oh shit...don't k-kill me...I've got money! I can g-give you anything!" he stammered, but Elio had been promised these things before. He grabbed Callais by the hair and repeatedly smashed his head into the mirrored elevator walls, shattering the glass and showering them both with fragments. He survived the first two impacts but on the third blow the millionaire's skull caved in and he moved no more.

Mission accomplished, Alboreto took a few seconds to inspect his appearance in an unbroken mirror, carefully picking shards of glass from his beard...happy to have his _murder gloves_ protecting his fingertips. He picked up the valise & the two fake passports while he waited. With a cheerful *_ding_* of its bell the elevator doors slid open and Elio slipped out, checking his watch. Under five minutes total. He hurried to the parking garage, moving quickly but not so fast as to attract attention from the staff & vacationers he crossed paths with on his way to the parking garage.

Monica had correctly predicted what floor he would wind up on, and with a screech of tires pulled up to collect Alboreto. The top was up to shield them in just case the security cameras came back on before they had escaped. "Americans and their automatic transmissions" complained the Minister, putting the gear selector in _drive_ and pulling away, "I haven't driven in years and I _still_ want to reach for the clutch pedal. Is it done?"

"It's done" Elio replied, "now let's get out of here; I made a bit of a mess and I don't want it to show up on our bill."

"Now _there's_ the secret agent man I remember" laughed Monica, pulling out onto Winnick Avenue. They were soon on Interstate 15, headed for Los Angeles with the top down & Las Vegas slowly disappearing in the rear view mirror.

**_Avocados_**

Kara had been searching the long term parking lots around Long Beach Airport for close to 20 minutes, getting more and more frustrated as those minutes racked up. Her handler had gotten an unexpected call and dispatched her in the Cadillac CTS-V they had rented to pick up two unknown persons. All she'd been told was that they had a red Ford Mustang convertible and _you'll know them when you see them_.

"There's more red Mustang convertibles in this city than people to drive them!" the annoyed cyborg growled out loud. She finally gave up and yanked her mobile phone out, international roaming charges be damned, she had to talk to her handler for better instructions.

There was a tap on the roof. Kara rolled the power window down and was amazed to see Mr. Alboreto standing there next to a red Mustang. "Now what would Michele say if he caught you talking on your phone while driving?" teased the man. Before Kara could recover from the shock she suffered a greater one. There by her passenger side door stood the _Minister of Defense_. She scrambled out of the drivers seat to take the Minister's bag.

"Ah, good afternoon Kara. Did you enjoy your visit to the animation studio?" asked the Minister pleasantly. Kara could only stand there in shock, her jaw moving but no words coming out. "There are a few cases of avocados in the boot, they're frightfully hard to get in Italy this time of year; would you please give Mr. Alboreto a hand with them?" With that Minister Petris stood patiently until Kara remembered what to do next, recovering from her daze to reach out and open the door for the Minister.

"Mr. Alboreto!" she whispered harshly, "What's going on? What are you two doing here?"

The old spy shrugged his shoulders and replied casually "Just picking up some avocados" as he deposited a case in her arms.

* * *

Somewhere over the Atlantic ocean Monica walked past Kara's seat and paused to check on the cyborg. She was fast asleep, the book she had been reading (Balzac's _Lily of the Valley_) hanging precariously by her fingertips. The Minister took the volume from her hands and set it down on the seat next to her before covering the girl with a blanket. She never lost sight of the girl's abilities, her extraordinary senses and the savage reason for her existence, but while she slept Kara looked like any ordinary teenager. Feeling a tinge of unfulfilled motherly instinct she wiped away a tear from the cyborg's cheek before returning to her own seat next to Elio.

"Is she out?" asked Alboreto.

"Like a light" replied the Minister.

"I thought she'd never fall asleep" he chuckled, "I was getting ready to waste one of my proxy codes and give her a Primary Command to go the hell to sleep."

"That's harsh" Petris laughed, "but you have a point...we need to close this mission out and you can't keep secrets from someone with hyper-senses." She pulled her computer and a stack of paperwork from her bag.

Elio shook his head in disbelief. "I've been doing this all of my adult life and I still can't understand how an operation nobody is supposed to know ever existed can generate this much paperwork."

"You're not getting out of this Alboreto!" she teased, putting on her reading glasses. "Have you given any thought to how we're going to reimburse Pagani for the fuel he's burning? I mean without anyone knowing he was in California on a mission."

"Pieri will accept that we can't explain it, but Jean Croce is going to blow a circuit breaker" sighed Elio, "and if Draghi catches the expense report it's going to take no less than an authorization from you to get him off Section Two's back."

"I'll discuss it with Michele later on" she replied, moving on to the next concern. "Perhaps there's some other reimbursable expense we can hide the money in."

Elio leaned back in his seat and said "Well, it was interesting to be back in the US...I doubt I'll ever be able to visit again."

"You never know" the Minister answered. She turned to him and let her eyeglasses hang by their cord "I'm sorry I couldn't patch things up between you and the American government. I'm sure you would have loved to bring Marisa diving off the Florida Keys someday."

"No worries, there's still plenty of countries I _am_ allowed to enter" he replied, dipping a tortilla chip into a bowl of excellent guacamole Michele had whipped up for the flight.

**_Paths Converge_**

After a fuel stop in Shannon, Ireland the Piaggio made the final leg of the journey home, landing at Leonardo DiVinci Airport in Rome early in the morning. Michele & Kara stayed at the airport to put the plane _to bed_ while Elio drove the Minister back to the SWA compound, where she would re-unite with her usual security force.

The two arrived around lunch time. For a few minutes they sat in the parking lot, neither one of them anxious to return to the grind of daily life. Finally, the Minister broke the silence. "Have a look in your bag, Alboreto...I know you told me not to, but I couldn't resist." He leaned back and unzipped his suitcase to find a package wrapped in pink paper, one he had not put there. "It's the dress I saw in the window back in Las Vegas. Sort of a thank you to Marisa for letting me borrow her handler. Don't worry, I removed the tags and since its been in your bag so long it will have your scent on it and not mine. Maybe someday enough time will have passed that she can learn where it came from."

"Thank you Monica" he said with a nostalgic smile, "from both of us. Any time you need a special favor I would be honored to be the one you call on."

"In that case; one last thing Elio" she said. Monica leaned over and planted a kiss on Alboreto's lips. "For old times sake."

He smiled and replied "Aye...for old times sake."

As the two stepped out of the car Elio froze in his tracks. There stood Claes, wide eyed with traumatized shock. He instantly surmised that she had seen everything, including his kiss with the Minister of Defense. Possibilities rushed through the handler's mind, direct orders to silence, primary commands, chemical memory wipes, but the Minister kept her cool.

"Claes, isn't it?" she asked. "Chief Lorenzo tells me you are one of his smartest cyborgs."

The girl in glasses shook off the shock & caught her inference immediately. "Smart enough to know I didn't see a thing."

Monica smiled and patted Claes on the cheek as she passed; "Clever girl."

The had not crossed half the parking lot before being set upon by a hastily assembled welcoming committee. Chief Lorenzo, Jean Croce and Section One Chief Draghi (who had rushed over as soon as he heard the Minister was on Section Two's side of the compound) led an assemblage of persons offering the Monica Petris their most sincere greetings, a comfortable place to wait until her security detail arrived and a copy of their latest budgetary proposal, just in case she had a little time to look it over. Elio gave her a sympathetic smile as she was ushered away by the crowd.

At the tail end of this group was Victor Hillshire, who greeted Alboreto with a handshake. "I'd ask how your trip went, but I'm guessing you can't tell me."

"You'd be correct. I will say _successfully_ though" answered the older man. "How was my cyborg? I see you're still in one piece."

"Still in one piece" muttered Victor, "that's an ironic choice of words, but you'll get to read all about that in my mission report. Suffice to say Marisa did very well; it was an _entertaining_ few days. She's out at the range right now, with Triela and some others. Brian McDonnell said he'd give them a lift back." He paused for a moment before adding "You know...they really should pay you more."

After speaking with Victor Hillshire Elio was left with nothing to do, so he checked his wristwatch and decided to head over to the dining hall to see what was for lunch. About the same time a red Audi RS6 pulled into a parking spot about 40 meters away, spilling out Brian McDonnell and a gaggle of chattering cyborgs. To Elio's surprise neither Brian nor Allison stepped out of the driver's door, and to his greater surprise it was his own Marisa that had been occupying the driver's seat. "McDonnell" he called over to the rusty haired man, beckoning with his upraised hand "a word with you please."

"Oh man," groaned Marisa to her fellow cyborgs "I think I'm in trouble."

Allison put a comforting arm around her shoulders and assured her "Don't worry, Brian will smooth things over."

Marisa had been daydreaming about the moment Elio returned almost since the moment he left, and to be caught doing something he had forbidden at that very moment was crushing to her. It was a relief to her when she heard no yelling between the two handlers and they parted company with handshakes & smiles, but she still approached her master with trepidation. "Eh...I know you said you didn't want me driving cars, but Mr. McDonnell said it was okay and..."

"Don't worry about it lass" he told her, and the sound of his voice washed the anxiety out of her soul like an ocean wave. He held out his arm, inviting a welcome back hug, which Marisa delivered with gusto, nearly knocking him down to the pavement.

"Welcome back Elio! So you're not angry about Mr. McDonnell letting me practice driving?" she asked as the two walked to the dining hall, Marisa with her left arm wrapped around his waist, Elio with his right hand on her shoulder.

"Well, I had to bend the rules a bit on my mission too" he told her, "but neither one of us should go making a habit of it, _capito_?"

She nodded. "So can you tell me where you've been?"

"Afraid not" Elio replied "but how was your time with Mr. Hillshire & Triela?"

"Mr. Hillshire is a tough teacher, but I learned a lot" she told him, "and I'm helping Triela with her English now just like she helps me with French & German."

"That's good" said Elio, but then took a more serious tone "you know Mr. Hillshire said I don't get paid enough to work with you."

"They can't possibly pay you enough!" declared the cyborg exuberantly, entirely missing his inference, "You're worth a zillion times what they pay you!"

Alboreto laughed a little, but continued "Whatever you say...but are you sure there's nothing you want to confess before I read Hillshire's official report?"

She shrugged her shoulders and answered honestly "No, nothing out of the ordinary. I had to have an ear replaced;" she cocked her head to show him, "ya think I can get this one pierced?"

"I'll think about it" her handler replied with a grin.

After selecting their respective lunches and sitting down at a table where they could continue to talk Marisa said "While you were away Rachel recited a poem in English class. It talked about two roads diverging in the woods."

"Hmm, _The Road Not Taken_." Elio commented.

Mari was surprised. "You know it?"

"Yes, it's a very famous poem by the American Robert Frost. Rachel didn't tell everyone _she_ wrote it, did she?" Fernando's cyborg had a reputation for being sneaky, but Alboreto didn't think Victor Hillshire would be dumb enough to fall for such a trick.

"No, no!" giggled Marisa, "She didn't take credit for it. It still made me think though...about _our_ two roads diverging. But our roads will always come back together, right?"

Alboreto thought about the road he had walked with Monica Petris 30 years ago, and the road he now walked with Marisa. "I think if roads come back together it's because people consider it important enough to make the effort."

"And that makes all the difference" Marisa twisted the last line of the poem before popping a piece of grilled zucchini into her mouth.

"Aye lass...that it does."

**END **


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